


Your Voice is a Splinter Inside Me

by Stella_Lost



Category: Kane (Band), Leverage, Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Character Study, Community: J2 & Kane Big Bang, Community: homebrewbingo, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Learning Disabilities, Leverage episodes thru 5.10, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, communication issues, medical setting, mention of auto accident, physical disabilities, scars (burn)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_Lost/pseuds/Stella_Lost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot Spencer knew that his life had changed the minute he opened his eyes and found himself confined to a hospital bed in a Third World country with no voice, no way to contact the team, no recollection on how he got there and only one apparent way out. He learns that disabilities, no matter how great or small, can be just as devastating when he meets Jensen Ackles, a physical therapist with some pretty big secrets of his own. But who is saving who? And does it really matter when you find that who you were before does not always mean that is who you’ll always have be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Voice is a Splinter Inside Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **J2 & Kane Big Bang 2012** (http://j2-kane-bigbang.livejournal.com/)  
> Art by **terrorinyertub** (http://terrorinyertub.livejournal.com/6165.html)  
>  Beta'd by the amazing **smalltrolven**
> 
> I do not have a medical degree, nor do I aspire to have one. That being said, I did research for this story, but I may have missed something and if that is the case, please accept my apologies.

**?? August, 2013 -**

It was the smell that alerted Eliot Spencer to his surroundings. That certain mix of powder-less latex, disinfectant, and antibacterial soap that floated among the air molecules, drifting across his face with every little breeze that allowed him to process the word hospital in his disoriented mind. And if the scent weren’t enough, the incessant beeping somewhere above him solidified the notion.

There was that initial sense of choking which lead him to swallow. But the motion caused intense discomfort to flare out across his larynx. 

Intubation. 

Okay, swallowing is going to be out of the question for the immediate future, he thought, his mind growing more active with each passing moment. Eliot could see the opaque shades of orange and creamy yellow that blurred and fuzzed behind his eyelids, only to be disturbed by the movement of the staff as they separated him from the glaring lights above. It wasn’t until the third attempt at opening his eyes did Eliot feel the pull at the skin on his forehead.  
Tape. Tape meant surgery.

_Dammit._

Internally Eliot started to try and figure out what exactly was wrong. He had learned firsthand, back when he was injured that first time in the Middle East while serving for Uncle Sam, to not react immediately to the unknown. A mistake he learned never to do again, but rather to concentrate on the different quadrants of his body to locate to source of pain. 

Slowly, systematically, he began to slowly tense different muscle groups in his neck and shoulders, then his biceps and wrists. A burning sensation flared up his left wrist. Okay, it might be a break, but more than likely a bad sprain. He let it go for now and moved on.

He could hear the voices around him growing dimmer and the fog of anesthesia started seeping around the darkened edges of his awareness. Eliot attempted to tense his pectoral muscles, but the heaviness in his chest caused his nostrils to close quickly despite the oxygen mask that was forcing air into his body.

 _Did I call Nate and tell him about Jimmy’s boat?_ He meant to, but the uncertainty definitely outweighed the surety in his mind. _Can Hardison track me via my phone? Where is my phone?_  
Eliot tried to concentrate on the questions that his mind was throwing out, but they started to separate and then run together.

The lights faded into the ether and Eliot’s equilibrium tilted into the void.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

“Monsieur Jensen! Monsieur Jensen!” The children’s joyous cries carried over the rumble of the old truck’s engine on the heated air that blew into the open passenger window. They shouted more in a mix of French and their native Malagasy tongue, but as Jensen sometimes had a hard time comprehending the French language as it rolled off their accented tongues when they spoke calmly, he knew that there was no way that he would understand what their excitement was about now.

Jensen looked down and waved at them, the wheels of the vehicle he was riding in bounced off the hard packed sand of the beach access road as it twisted between the Traveler’s palm trees and began its ascent up the mile or so of stony track that would lead to the hospital compound.

“What are they going on about?” Jensen questioned, looking to his left at the ever-cheerful face of his friend and co-worker, Tamanil Dupuis.

“Why, they are screaming ‘Mr. Jensen! Mr. Jensen?”Tamanil teased as he downshifted over a steep rise. “Perhaps they are hoping that you have brought them sweets.”

Rolling his eyes, Jensen swatted his hand in the general direction of his friend. He missed by several inches as his teeth clicked together, hard, as the truck caught a particularly deep rut. 

“Holy Mother Mary!”

Tamanil laughed as he wrenched the wheel to his left, forcing the truck through gravity, strength, and sheer luck to pop out of a one-way ride into the dense undergrowth, which more than likely would have ended with them either hanging over a deep precipice or embedded against the sturdy Baobab tree. 

“Ah, Jensen Ackles, it will only become worse before it is over, no? The rains are not even upon us and when they are and the water eats its way to the source, then there will be reason for fright, no?”

This time Jensen’s fingertips did make a _thwap_ as they caught the edge of Tamanil’s denim covered thigh. 

“Oh, you try to wound me, but you are a mere gnat on a gnu’s ear, my friend.” Tamanil, grinned as the sight of the fence line that surrounded the compound filled the windshield in front of them.

“You . . .” Jensen started, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his own face in return. “Fine, but I sometimes think that you drive like a maniac on purpose. Just to try and scare me.”

“Does it work? I think, yes, it does, no?”

“No. It does not.” Jensen laughed as they rolled through the gate, “no, really Tam, what were they yelling about?”

“They were too many voices, I think. I could not hear it in my ear clear.” Tam replied calmly as he maneuvered the truck towards the supply sheds. “I am positive that in time you will know.”

It had taken him a few months to become acclimated to living in Madagascar, but life was good now. He kept busy with his work as a physical therapist at the hospital, helping those that suffered from the fate of being born in what most of the rest of the world would call a Third-world country. Jensen had thought that he had known what poverty was before, but then he landed here and his eyes were opened to what living without could really do to a body.

There were deformed limbs, due largely to the poor diets of the expectant mothers, not that the mothers’ were to blame in the slightest. Jensen knew that many did the best that they could, but if there weren’t the resources to start with, well, it was usually a hard battle to better the situation. Then there were the bones and joints that had healed inadequately, where there were neither doctors, nor money to pay one, if one was located. In the eight months that he had lived in the Physicians for Hope International compound, Jensen had seen so much suffering. But once he met the indigenous population and subsequently grew to love them, he realized that he was the in fact the poor individual in the equation.

Tamanil killed the ignition and the truck quaked and shuddered to a slow stop. On the oppressive air came excited voices again. 

“Seriously, Tam. I think something’s going on.” Jensen craned his head around, but couldn’t see anyone.

“Perhaps, you are correct.” Tamanil pushed open his door and hopped the few feet to the ground; Jensen followed suit and walked to look around the edge of the shed. He could make out a few of the staff hurrying towards the long, low stone building that served as the main clinic and surgery for PHI. A Malagasy nurse jogged by with the chief of surgery, Dr. Jeff Morgan on her heels, still straightening his blue scrub top that he had no doubt just pulled on.

“I should – “ Jensen waved a hand helplessly towards the hospital.

“Yes, you should. I will get one of the youths to aid me. Thank you, Jensen Ackles for accompanying me today.” Tamanil grinned again, the few teeth that hadn’t rotted away, gleamed in the afternoon sun. “Off you go and return when you are done, no?”

“Thanks, Tam. I’ll . . .yeah, I’ll let you know.” Jensen nodded as he joined the parade of volunteers and staff alike, as they converged on the hospital. 

 

**16 September, 2013 -**

The spicy twist of clove and vanilla mingled cloyingly with a soapy odor that tickled his nostrils. Eliot barely twitched his nose, not from the smells of his surroundings, for he knew where he was, well not exactly, but his even in his current state, he was still able to identify the sounds and smells of a hospital. But the big picture _where_ still evaded his senses. For that matter so did the how, when, and why. The _what_ could wait, he thought briefly, as he concentrated on willing his nerves to start firing.

 _This is a setback_ , he thought, but Eliot knew he would work it out and be on his way home soon enough.

The thought of _home_ gave him pause. Up until a few years ago there had been a second part to that word. It wasn’t home but rather home base. A place to stop briefly to clean up his knives and the other useful tools of his trade as a retrieval specialist, to regroup, to cook a meal or two, and to pretend that he was just like everyone else, when in fact he was nothing like anybody else. He was Eliot Spencer, or at least that was the name he most often went by, and he was a shadow.

There was a brief flurry of activity off to his left, some murmured voices and a soft perpetual moaning. Eliot kept his head still and unmoving on his pillow. His eyes opened a fraction so that the blue and white forms that moved in his periphery were blurs. He didn’t want to get to know anyone here. No. Eliot wanted to be healed enough to get out and to get home.

“It’s Mr. Rabemananjara.” A soft, masculine voice spoke from somewhere near the foot of Eliot’s bed. “He is . . . well, it will be soon.”

Eliot called himself a few choice names as his eyes opened fully at the voice and he took in the man standing next to his bed. He shouldn’t have reacted, but he was startled by being addressed in English, most of what he had heard up to this point had been French. 

He was off his game. Of course, he was. He was stuck in a hospital, heaven only knows where and the man standing there had snuck up on him. Eliot looked away then, back to the commotion in the far bed.

“Mr. Rabemananjara is a nobleman of the village, one of the oldest residents, but he suffered a stroke last week and his body is shutting down. Many of the village folks have been through here to pay their respects. I am told by Tamanil that they’ve already started preparing his _Valavato_.” 

_Valavato_. A Malagasian burial tomb. One word and Eliot knew where the hell he was, finally. 

Madagascar.

 _How the fuck did he wind up in Madagascar?_

It was at least fifteen hundred miles away from where he should have been.

Eliot glanced up again at the man. His breath caught at the compassion in the man’s clear green eyes. He hoped it was for the nobleman and not for his own condition, but he had a feeling that that hope was foolhardy at best. He continued to stare at the man, noting the dark blue hospital scrubs that did nothing to hide the broad shoulders of the man’s physique, the light brown hair was unintentionally ruffled, as if the man had a habit of unconsciously running his hands through it. His white coat suggested that he was a doctor, but he almost looked too young in Eliot’s opinion

“It’s good to see your eyes. You’ve had us all pretty worried, y’know?” 

Eliot closed his eyes for a few moments. The desire to leave them shut and to feign sleep was strong, but the scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bed made him reopen them. The doctor settled down and then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped together loosely.

“How are you feeling? I can get you some more morphine if the pain is too much.”

An American doctor, then and from his accent, a Texan, Eliot deduced. 

He swallowed roughly at nothing, his tongue rubbing and sticking against the arid roof of his mouth.

The doctor shifted forward and soon a small plastic cup filled with water was held in front of his face. Eliot took a tentative sip on the straw that rubbed against his cracked lips.

A sharp throbbing ache echoed up his throat as Eliot swallowed, an act that caused him to gasp inaudibly, causing the tepid water to run down his chin. 

“Try holding it in your mouth and letting it run down on its own, okay?” 

He caught the look of sympathy as it passed over the doctors’ face as the man used the corner of the bed sheet to gingerly pat at Eliot’s chin and neck. Eliot tried again and by the third attempt was able to feel the soothing liquid as it slid down his throat.

“I know Dr. Wester told me that he spoke with you about your condition yesterday, but would you like me to go over it again with you? I’m guessing he might have . . .hurried through his explanation and maybe you might not have been quite awake yet.”

Eliot liked this guy. He didn’t trust him, but then again, he trusted so few, but this guy seemed to be okay so far. _It’s the eyes,_ Eliot noted to himself, _there’s no deception._ He tried to nod, but the pain in his neck stopped that motion as soon as it started.

“Okay. It’s okay, don’t move if you can help it.” The doctor reached out and rubbed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Eliot noticed the mottled and shiny skin of a severe burn long since healed on the hand as the doctor drew it back and replaced it in his lap. “You’ve been here; let’s see, almost two weeks. You were brought in by a truck, but Tamanil, he does a lot of the supply runs and maintenance around here, said that the driver brought you up from the dock at Fabalikoa. That you had been found clinging to some debris out in the water. Do you remember any of that or what happened?”

Eliot opened his mouth, but the pain shot hard and bright again. _Two weeks? It was supposed to be three days, four tops._ He hadn’t wanted to do it in the first place, but since the team was between jobs right now and yeah, fine, he fuckin’ owed Wilkins, but two weeks? _Fuck_.

“No, please don’t. That was stupid of me to ask a question.” Eliot felt his hand grow warmer as the doctor enveloped it in his own. “How about this? I ask only yes or no questions and you squeeze for yes or don’t squeeze for no. Can you do that?”

Eliot lay there a moment before realizing that he could answer. He clasped the hand weakly and was rewarded with a beaming grin full of clean white teeth and the green eyes sparkled down at him.

“Good. That’s good. Really good. Okay, you probably are really confused as to where you are and who I am. I know I’d be lying if I didn’t say we all are a bit curious about you. Plus, I guess you want to know why your throat hurts so badly and everything else, right?” Eliot refrained from applying pressure and the twinkle left the doctor’s eyes. He did want to know those things. Very much so. But he also had so many other questions as well. First and foremost, what happened to Wilkins, the man he was working for? How did he end up in the ocean? And did the rest of the team know where he was? He squeezed slightly to get the doctor’s attention.

“It’s all a bit much, yeah? Okay, let’s start over. Do you need another drink first?” He lifted the straw to Eliot’s mouth when he had clutched at the doctor’s hand in the affirmative. “Good, good. Well, let me introduce myself and tell you what I know, okay? If you need me to stop, just give me a squeeze and we’ll give it some time.”

“My name is Jensen Ackles, and please, call me Jensen, well, when you get your voice back that is. I’ve been a physical therapist with _Les médecins de l'Espoir International,_ or as we in America call it, Physicians for Hope International or PHI, for just over a year now. I started my training in Haiti and then a spot opened up in Thailand. But about eight months ago, I . . . well, I . . . here I am in Madagascar. I’m originally from Texas, the Dallas area and I went to Texas Tech over in Lubbock for my degree. Of course, you don’t really care about all of that, but, meh,” Eliot watched as the doctor, _no, Ackles_ , Eliot’s mind supplied, waved his scarred hand in the air.

“So, I’m guessing that you figured out that you are at the PHI medical compound in Marahinja, Madagascar to be more precise. The people here are good folks and seem to find something to smile about every day, so that’s good. Like I said, you’ve been here nearly two weeks. Dr. Morgan, he’s the head surgeon, said that he lost you twice on the table, but that you, well, they brought you back and that’s what’s important, right?”

 _Lost me twice_? Eliot contemplated as he lowered his eyes from the reassuring gaze that was being leveled at him. He could see his body lying beneath the grey standard hospital blanket. Two of the nurses beyond his feet were rolling a hinged metal frame covered with a soft white material around a bed. He assumed that the nobleman was on borrowed time now. _Shit. They had better not bring me a death curtain_.

“We didn’t know what to call you, you know? As you had no wallet or any other personal effects, other than this.” Eliot glanced back at Ackles as the man let go of his hand to reach into the breast pocket of his scrub top. He heard a small jingle of metal upon metal. It was warm to the touch as the doctor closed Eliot’s hand into a fist over whatever it was. He unclenched his hand and saw his momma’s necklace. The one she had engraved with his grandfather’s name when he passed. It was one of Eliot’s biggest regrets, him being unable to attend the funeral as he was deep in Azerbaijan then. 

His strength sapped by injury and inactivity, Eliot lifted his hand up slowly and let the chain drop down in front of his face. The flat silver heart caught between the incandescent bulbs above and the morning sunlight that streamed through the window. Brief flashes of light played against the walls and ceiling as the charm spun tautly on its chain. A glimmer caught Eliot in the eye, causing him to flinch. He knew what was inscribed on the heart, so he wasn’t terribly surprised by what Jensen said next.

“We’ve been calling you Spencer, if that’s alright? It seems a bit more personal than John Doe, don’t you think?”

The heart landed on his chest as the chain slid gently towards the hollow of his throat. He grasped at the doctor’s hand and squeezed tightly. The smile that he received felt almost as good as when he completed his first successful mission.

“That’s good. Do you want me to go on, Spencer or do I need to stop and let you rest for awhile?” Eliot lessened his grip, but didn’t let go.

“Okay. How about I clue you in on what we’re facing here, in terms of your injuries and then we’ll take a break, yeah?” 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what the doctor was going to tell him, but he had never shied away from a fight before and he wasn’t about to start now. Not in some Third World hospital where no one knew him and those that did, had no idea where to find him.

“Well, I guess I’ll start with your throat, since that’s the one that is causing you the most distress so far. You sustained an injury to your thyroid and cricoids cartilages, which is what is causing the tracheal issues. They’re not so far damaged as to indicate permanent injury, but the swelling and hematomas, or bruising have left your throat and neck in a highly sensitive state. Luckily, the interior walls and the larynx seem to be intact, so in time, with sufficient healing, your voice will return to normal. You may have a hoarseness or the tone of your voice may be affected, but we don’t know at this time if that will be the case. Dr. Morgan, told me that he recommends that you try not to speak for a week or two and we’re going to keep you on a liquid diet and then he’ll reevaluate the injury. Does that make sense to you?”

The words sunk in slowly. In the past, he had spent hours, days even, not speaking, so Eliot wasn’t too worried about dealing with the silence. He grasped at the hand in his to show his agreement, his fingers sliding over the taut, smooth skin of the scar. _Not a chemical burn, but something just as bad_ , he surmised.

“Good. I’m sure you have a charming voice and I look forward to hearing it, but in the interest of your health, well, we’ll just have to continue with the method we’ve been using, yeah?” Jensen smiled down at him again and patted his forearm with his free hand. “I’ll make sure that this, the ‘squeeze for yes’ trick is entered into your chart.”

Eliot rubbed the thumb of his free hand slowly, methodically across the etched name on the heart. He was growing fatigued, he sensed it in his movements, the slight drag on his motor skills, but he wanted the man to get to the point, to tell him what he was facing before he passed out again. He blinked rapidly and then squeezed.

“Still with me?” Ackle’s voice, tinged with obvious concern, more so than Eliot felt was warranted for the neck injury that he had just described. 

“You also had some internal bleeding, which required a blood transfusion or two, but the Doctors took care of that pretty much as soon as you got here. You were also banged up pretty good. There were bruises practically everywhere and several deep cuts that had become infected, but I believe we got all of them under control while you were sedated. In case, you were wondering, we have kept you in a slightly medicated state since right before your surgery. It was for your own protection, you understand. Dr. Morgan said that you appeared to wake up a bit before they could put you under completely and in a series of movements, you appeared to, I don’t know, tweak something that may have been too much causing you to fall unconscious. A blessing probably, but . . .do you remember that?”

Eliot stared back into those deep green eyes and willed his mind to remember, but the last thing that he could recall was Wilkins’s shout about their boat being boarded as he was coming up from the galley below.

“No? That’s okay. I understand that it can be very confusing and I gather that from the state you were in when you were brought in, it’s surprising that you were even moving.” Eliot cast his eyes away; he paused slightly when his mind registered the piteousness that was looking down on him. He glanced out the window to his right and saw nothing save the few green tops of the Baobab trees waving against a cerulean blue sky. It looked nearly serene from this angle. He could hear the calls of children somewhere in the distance.

“Do . . .Spencer, would you like me to stop?”

The warm hand around his flinched as if trying to encourage him to squeeze it back, but he withstood. He wanted to hear it all. He _needed_ to hear just what Ackles wasn’t telling him.

“It’s alright. I can stop at anytime, okay? Just let me know.” There was a moisture building between their palms as Eliot gave a gentle grasp.

“The injury that we find most worrisome and why you have a physical therapist talking to you rather than a doctor . . .I, you see, we aren’t sure how you sustained any of your injuries, if it was before you ended up floating across the Indian Ocean or after. We aren’t even sure _how_ you ended up there or if the men that pulled you out caused any further damage. You need to understand that we are a small clinic, a non-profit that was built to help dispense immunizations and offer basic healthcare to people who otherwise cannot afford it. We are lucky to have such an amazing doctor as Dr. Morg-“

Eliot squeezed the man’s hand to stop him from rambling. He gave it a second squeeze and then a third to insure he had his attention. With his free hand, Eliot lifted his first two fingers off the bed and slid them in a slow circular motion. It made the man smile broadly.

“I’m rambling, huh? I do that when I’m nervous. Sorry.” He watched the smile slip off Jensen’s face as a blush crept up to try and obscure the faint dusting of freckles that crested across his cheeks and nose.

“I – we, well, the injury that concerns us the most is the one to your spinal column. Between your T11 and T12 vertebra to be exact. Now, we know that you can use your arms and hands right now which is good news, excellent news in fact, but until the swelling goes down, we can’t be sure on the completeness of the injury. If it is a complete break or the damage extends to the spinal cord as well, I hate to say this, but it could leave you in a paraplegic condition.”

The trees were still swaying in the breeze in the distance, the sky was still a crisp bright blue, and Eliot wanted to cry at it all. He let his eyes drop close and he fought to get enough air into his lungs. The damaged hand around his clung tighter and a second rubbed softly at his shoulder.

“But that is worse case scenario, Spencer. You have got to believe that. “

How could he work with this? Eliot knew that there was no work for a hitter in a wheelchair and he sure in the hell wasn’t going to be stuck in the van with Hardison. He was so fucked. He felt a sob attempting to crawl up his chest, as it reached the base of his esophagus; he swallowed to hold it in, causing his throat to rebel against him as it constricted and he gasped. Eliot’s eyes flew open to see Dr. Ackles leaning over him, the look on his face anxious, nearing panicked.

“It’s going to be okay, Spencer. You are going to be okay. Stay with me now. Stay calm.”

He watched as the doctor leaned completely over him and hit a switch on the tubing that snaked down to the needle stuck in his hand clutching his momma’s necklace. The platitudes washed gently against his skin as a hand started to brush softly across his forehead.

“You’re going to get better, Spencer. I promise. I’m not going to let you down. Stay with me. You have to stay with me. I’m not going to lose you, too.”

Eliot faded away as the morphine dripped at a steady, heavier flow into his veins; the dosage increased, and he slipped painlessly into unconsciousness, but not before he wondered who else the doctor had lost.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

“Sam?”

There was a thump followed by a brief string of muttered curses. From his position leaning against the doorframe, Jensen couldn’t see Sam Wesson, PHI’s computer extraordinaire anywhere but after another bump which caused a few papers to slide from the cluttered desk, he had a vague idea where the genius was hiding.

He looked around at the general messiness of the office. Files stacked precariously on nearly every conceivable surface, a few even on the desk chair, warped and wrinkled from where they had been sat upon.

“Jensen! Hey! I, uh, lookin’ for something.” Jensen grinned at the disheveled hair and the bright red indent that cut neatly across Sam’s cheek.

“Yeah? What?”

“Eh? Oh, uh . . . Fine. I was sorting out the mess of cords and I had a pretty big lunch and –“

“You decided to take a nap.” Jensen finished for him as Sam scrubbed a hand over his hair and across the back of his neck. “I don’t know. That floor looks pretty inviting, if you ask me.”

“Like you would never believe.” Sam chuckled before waving Jensen into the office and sat down on his own folder laden chair. “So to what do I owe the honor? Haven’t seen you around much.”

Jensen moved a stack of books from the corner of Sam’s desk and perched carefully on the edge. It amazed him sometimes that Sam could work in all this confusion, but when he asked about it once, Sam had just dismissed it by saying that ‘being one man with way too much to do, was better than working in a cube farm where there was never enough to keep everyone occupied.’ Jensen didn’t quite get that, but then again, he hadn’t done any type of paperwork in quite some time.

“I need you to look something up for me.” Jensen started, but he clarified it when Sam merely raised an eyebrow at him. “In that way that only you can.”

“I figured that. I mean, I know I do a lot of your paperwork for you because you’re so overworked, but . . . This wouldn’t be illegal now, would it?” 

“No!” Jensen could feel a blush starting, “or at least I don’t think so.”

“Yeah?” 

He could see the interest growing in Sam’s expression. He had told Jensen last year that he had figured out a backdoor into the Federal Bureau of Investigations secret database, but Jensen still found that hard to believe.

“Yeah.” He tapped a finger on the little plastic vampire statue on the desk and watched as its head shimmied on its spring. 

“Color me intrigued. Go on.” Sam leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

“I have a feeling about the John Doe we’ve been looking after over at the hospital.” Jensen started before Sam interrupted him.

“The Merman?” Jensen hated hearing Spencer called that, it made him sound less than manly than Jensen could tell he really was.

“His name is Spencer.” Jensen schooled his expression, he figured it was no use getting Sam worked up too much or else he would really start laying into Jensen.

“I thought he wasn’t talking yet?” Sam’s eyebrow quirked for a second before smoothing out across his broad brow. “Do you know something, Ackles?”

“No! I, uh, no. It’s just that I’ve figured out a way to communicate with him.” It sounded lame even to Jensen, but whatever.

“What like Lassie, bark once for yes and twice for no?” Sam said cheekily and then he laughed when he saw the scowl that Jensen couldn’t hold back. “You maybe getting’ a little too attached there, Jen. Maybe I should go over to the hospital and check this guy out? See what all the fuss is about?”

“There’s no fuss. He’s a patient and I want to see if there’s a way to get in contact with his family or friends or something.”

“Yeah? So if you two are _communicating_ ,” Jensen was starting to regret coming to Sam with this when he saw those ridiculously long fingers mock him with air quotes. “Why doesn’t he just tell you what you want to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just call Steve and see if he can get the tech over in Thailand to look for what I need.” Jensen started to stand, but Sam’s hand clamped down on his arm before he could raise himself completely off the desk.

“I’m just hasslin’ you, Jensen. Man, lighten up. What do you need?” The playful tone had dropped from Sam’s voice, a rarity Jensen noted to himself.

Jensen stared at Sam, calculating in his mind if he could trust him to do what he needed and discreetly. He sighed and then started to lay out what he was thinking and how Sam could help him help Spencer.

 

**07 October, 2013 -**

The children were laughing in the distance. Eliot couldn’t see them, but he wondered who they belonged to and why their hollers and cries could be heard from dawn until dusk. He blinked his eyes a few more times to get his eyes to focus. It was morning again, he could tell by the slant of the sun coming in the window behind him.

A yelp pierced the air followed by shouts of laughter. The sounds brought the precious few memories Eliot had of his nephews to his mind. He used to let them wrestle him down to the floor and he would tumble them around on the living room rug tickling them until their giggles turned to shrieks of joy. It made him heartsick for his own youth, the one that he threw away the minute that he hit seventeen and took off for a life of adventure . . . and it had been an adventure, one bloody and beaten adventure after another. 

Eliot was sick of all the attention that he has been receiving from everybody. He knew that his injuries were worse than any he had ever suffered before, a fact that bothered him more than he wanted to actually allow himself to dwell upon. That’s what was really eating at him, well, not the injuries, but the fact that they made him less than half of what he was before. He was smart, he knew how to do his job, but not like this. 

_Hell_ He thought bitterly, _I can’t even turn over by myself_. The nurses had been coming around every two and half hours to help him do that so that he didn’t get any sores; He felt worthless, a sensation that he had never faced before. It was festering deeper and deeper every day that he was stuck in the damned hospital.

It had been a week since lucidity had become his friend again and Eliot had seen patients come and patients go from the neighboring beds. It was becoming disheartening, watching the sick and infirm come in and leave all healthy and healed a few days later. He wanted to go with them, to see the broad blue sky rather than the small square the window next to his own bed provided. 

A few times he had thought about asking Jensen if they could move him to a different bed, so that he wouldn’t be taunted by his former life floating by on the clouds, but then he remembered that he wanted the solitude and the peace that his current location provided him. Any move would put him closer to the busyness of the rest of the ward and he didn’t want that, not now.

Mr. Rabemananjara, the village nobleman, was the only patient to die since he had woken up. But even in that case, Eliot could see that it was a blessing because the old man’s body had deteriorated to the point of no return.

Eliot knew that that wasn’t the case with his own. Yet. His body was still strong. He didn’t feel weak or unwell. When he ran his palms over his thighs, he could feel the muscles, as they lay firm beneath his skin. But he also knew that if he is laid up much longer, he will be able to feel them shrinking, fading, shriveling as their power is sapped by disuse. 

_And then I’m going to be past the point of no return_.

That phrase, the point of no return, resonated in his mind like the striking of the church bells from when he was a boy. It was calling him just as they had, not to come, but to go.

Dr. JD Morgan, the surgeon that had stopped his quick death twice in the triage bay, stopped by daily to check on his handiwork and to see how Eliot’s neck was healing. He seemed like an affable guy, easy to get along with and probably too good to be stuck in this rinky-dink hospital, but maybe he had his reasons for doing what he is doing over here. One time, Eliot would have tried to gather more information, to see if the good Doctor had done something bad back in the States, but now he merely squeezed out his answers against those skillful hands.

Dr. Travis Wester, the other doctor to stop by on occasion, looked about as talented as Hardison when he tried to use his pickpocket skills. Wester was a jackass in Eliot’s book. A pompous blow-hard of a jackass that looked like he was padding his resume with his experience in the wild, so that when he gets to go home, he can land some cushy job in some cushy hospital, helping the privileged and the pampered to deal with their piddly little hangnails. He was exactly the type of guy that Nate would seek out to take down because he appeared to be _exactly_ the type of guy that was going to work his agenda at whatever the cost to anyone else.

There were too many hours in a day. Eliot remembers telling Sophie once, that he ‘made time’ to do all that he needed to do. Now he laid here and either stared at the other patients, stared at the ceiling or for the brief time he was allotted, he stared out the window and watched his world float away from him. 

One time he saw a plane overhead, contrails thick and steady, he had tried to stop himself from remembering the time that they had all nearly died had it not been for Hardison steering the jet from some office building, thousands of miles away, but he couldn’t. 

He didn’t want to miss Hardison, but he did.

Eliot found that he despised everything now. He could hear Hardison teasing him for being so surly and he wanted to go back now and laugh in his mocking face and tell him that he had no idea what surly was, because Eliot surely did now.

He wondered if the team had been looking for him; if Hardison had run through every database he could, trying to catch a whisper of his location over the ether? If Nate had broken finally and called in a favor from Sterling? A small part of Eliot hoped that that was the case, even if he _was_ found by Sterling, he would be grateful, but the larger part of his core was beginning to believe that the team was going to be better off with him gone. He knew that in the state that he was in, he would only hinder them.

Not for the first time, Eliot pictured the strength and courage of Corporal Perry and how that amazing young soldier, though broken and threatened, had still possessed the integrity and ideals of his country. It had been a turning point for not only the team, but for Eliot’s own moral compass. He knew after seeing all of those veterans of a war that seemed never ending, that he had to make a change from how he was living his life. 

_If I had known then where I would end up_ , Eliot calculated while watching a nurse attend to a little boy with a scraped knee, _would I have made the same choice to throw in with Nate and the others_?

What was the use of turning from his life as a retrieval specialist to become one of the good guys so to speak, only to end up stuck in some fucking wheelchair? He knew enough French to understand that much of his prognosis. His nerves were still so fucked that it would probably be months before they would know if he will even be able to take a piss standing like a man. 

Eliot had a plan though. It wasn’t the perfect plan and he did regret not being able to tell the team good-bye or his momma, but dammit, he had never been dependent on anyone before and he didn’t want to start now. 

They had switched him off the morphine drip about three days ago when it was determined that his throat had healed enough for him to swallow gently. Now the pain was being controlled by pills. Four times a day he was roused and two little white pills were pressed into his hand. But the nurses, for all their kindness and sympathies didn’t know two things about him. One, he could handle pain a lot better than the average man and two; he could be just as sly as Parker when it came to the sleight of hand.

He didn’t have enough of the pills saved up yet, but soon. 

_Very soon_.

“Hey, Spencer.” The deep male voice, came at him from somewhere behind his back. “How are you feeling today?”

Eliot hated that. A voice coming at him from behind. He wanted to lash out, to scream at Jensen for sneaking up on him, but he stayed silent such he had from the moment he had woken up. It was petty, his silence, but it was the one thing he could still control in this entire fucked up situation.

Jensen crossed beneath the foot of the bed until he was in Eliot’s line of sight. He sat softly on the edge of the bed and smiled down at him. Jensen was a contradiction in Eliot’s mind. He was a big guy, Jensen; yet when he moved it was with quiet precision. And while he talked freely about his life back in Texas and about his family, Eliot could catch a murky undertone that there was something lurking below Jensen’s gregarious attitude; a darkness that shimmered to the surface occasionally when Jensen let his guard down. Eliot knew that if he was anyone else, he would be digging and scratching to get below the surface to find out what it was that the therapist was hiding, but he wasn’t anyone else, he was Eliot Spencer and he didn’t do attachments to anyone or anything.

“That looks good. Your neck I mean. The bruises are nearly all gone. Is it feeling any better?” Eliot felt Jensen’s warm palm wrapping around his hand hesitantly as if he was scared of the answer. He hadn’t pushed Eliot to speak yet, but then Jensen didn’t really push at anything besides his muscles and his joints. Eliot’s pretty sure that there’s a possibility that he could miss Jensen as much as he would miss the team when he goes. Not that he will be around to miss much of anyone. 

_I wonder if he will miss me_? It was such a sentimental thought that Eliot shook his head to clear it from his mind.

“Don’t worry, it will.” Jensen’s assurance pulled Eliot back to the here and now. It forced him to think back to what Jensen had asked before to put it into context.

“So I was telling you about my brief stint as a catalog model when I was a boy, right? Well that all ended with a set of Superman pajamas, do you want to hear about that?” Eliot squeezed Jensen’s hand one last time before the taller man stood and set about doing the various exercises that he assured Eliot, would keep his muscles from atrophying so that when he was able to get out of the damn bed he was trapped in, he would be able to walk. Eliot had his doubts. 

Jensen’s whisky-and-honey voice washed over him as Eliot let his mind wander.

 _Ten days. Ten more days and then I won’t be wasting everyone’s time_.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

“There wasn’t anything in those files, Jensen. No Spencer missing from any of the branches of the military, active or otherwise.”

Jensen ran his hand through his hair and glanced out of the window of his small domicile. The PHI’s auxiliary workers and lesser staff members had the choice of a single room hut or a bunk in the dormitory. It hadn’t taken Jensen more than a minute to decide on the hut; he had been in a dorm in Thailand and it reminded him a little too much of his college experiences.

A hefty sigh bled slowly into his ear from his phone and Jensen rolled his eyes at his friend’s theatrics. Steve Carlson had been one of the first people to welcome Jensen to PHI, back in Haiti, when the California native was returning to work after a family emergency. He had stopped in Haiti with the supply plane and he, Jensen, and some of the other staff had local kids in a lively soccer match. That night over a bottle of Brazilian _cachaça_ and softly spoken secrets, an inebriated Steve had kissed Jensen and then promptly passed out.

That kiss was as far as their romantic history went, but over the course of Jensen’s career with PHI, Steve had become the strong ally that Jensen needed badly in his life, since he was so far away from his family. 

“Did you check both first and last names?” It was a stupid question, but since he was relying on Steve to come through for him, he felt justified in his asking. He pulled open the thin wooden slat that served to hold the wood panel door closed and stepped out into the sultry air of the early evening.

 

“Nope.” The breath that left Jensen’s body tasted stale and bitter. He knew that Steve had to be messing with him, but Jensen had a feeling that he needed to find out who Spencer was and fast. He couldn’t figure out why, but he knew time was of the essence. “Of course, I did, you ninny. I even checked middle names, but there isn’t any Spencer listed in any of the files you sent me. Who is this guy to you anyway, other than your patient?”

“Nobody.”

“Jensen.” A warning tone.

“He’s . . . I don’t know what it is, Steve. Even when he was still sedated, I had the overwhelming urge to help him.” Jensen scrubbed lightly at his face as if Steve could see the growing flush on his cheeks. He knew he was holding back the attraction that he had for the cryptic and silent man, but he really wasn’t sure what it was about Spencer that made him want to do everything in his power to help him heal.

“Yeah? So a hottie, huh?”

“Steve! I . . .you -. . .knock it off, you ass.” Jensen was helpless as a short burst of laughter filled his ear.

“Hey! Just askin’. It’s been awhile, you know. Hell, I couldn’t even get you to put out.” Steve defended himself with his fall back argument.

“That’s because you passed the fuck out and . . . and I didn’t need everyone at PHI and everywhere in between finding out.” Jensen huffed. He tipped his head back to peer up at the darkening clouds to the East. It was late September, so it was only a matter of time before the rains came to Madagascar.

“Jen! I’m not like that and you know it. I’m just teasing. Besides, it sounds as if you’re getting kinda hung up on this Spencer guy. Now, tell your Uncle Steve all about him.”

Jensen sighed. He loved Steve like a brother, but like a brother, Steve also knew how to push all the right buttons, to make him laugh one minute and want to cry the next.

“I don’t know, Steve. It’s like he’s giving up.” Jensen stopped in his tracks and thought about what he had just said. He hadn’t thought that before, but it was true. 

“Jensen, it’s only been what? A couple of weeks? _And_ he’s separated from his family and friends wherever they are, of course the guy is giving up. He probably sees no reason to fight, no hope. Have you guys figured out a way to look for his family, his friends?”

“That’s why I sent you those files, jackass.” Jensen groused.

“No, you sent me those files so that I could find your Spencer, not his family.” Steve reasoned logically. 

_One of these days . . ._ , Jensen’s mind supplied mutinously. 

“Fine, no we haven’t. I’ve asked him if there is anyone I needed to call for him, but he either shuts his eyes or lets go.” It was actually driving Jensen a bit crazy that he couldn’t stress to Spencer just how important family and friends were to his recovery.

“Lets go?” 

“Yeah, um, to communicate, I’ve been holding his hand and he squeezes or he doesn’t for ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers.” 

“Jesus, Jensen! You’re getting attached, aren’t you? You have to know what a bad idea that is, right?” The exasperation was clear in Steve’s voice, Jensen could hear it as clear as if the man was standing right next to him, hand pulled back to smack him soundly in the back of the head.

“No,” Jensen said slowly, hating again how Steve knew everything about him in the short while that they had known one other. “I have to talk to him somehow and with his throat injury –“

“Which you told me was healing nicely.” Steve interrupted.

“- Barely healed, but I don’t want to push him too hard.” He finished as if Steve hadn’t even spoke.

“Push him, Jen. If you don’t . . .well, you’ve told me about your . . . and sure, you had your entire family behind you, but what if you didn’t?” Jensen’s chest constricted as the implications from Steve’s words settled heavily in his gut. “This guy sounds like he’s hiding from something and that’s okay, he doesn’t have to shout it from the rooftops, but he has to know that he has to have someone in his corner. You have to make him see that, Jen, or else, well, he may never see the need to . . .”

 _To what? To heal? To keep trying to get better? To live?_ Jensen’s mind finished the sentence as he stopped pacing and turned to watch the last remaining sliver of sun dip below the horizon; the dark blue sky grew ominous. He knew what Steve was saying was true. He did. But the truth deep down inside was holding him back from admitting it. It could ruin everything. The truth.

“Do you want me to come over there, Jen? We’ve got a full staff for once and I could take a few days.” Steve’s voice had lost its edge, now the softness of it was meant to soothe, to support.

“I –“ Jensen cleared his throat, “no. I think I’ve got it handled. I can do this.” Jensen replied hurriedly. He knew that his voice was nowhere as convincing as his words, but he wanted to believe that he could. “Thanks though.”

“Jensen. If you need me, I’ll be there, just say the word, okay?” There have been few instances in the past, though the most difficult of times, when Jensen truly felt at a loss for words, but this moment, this very instance he was humbled by having such a friend as Steve. “Anytime, Jen. Just call me.” 

“I know. Thanks, Steve. Really. Just thanks.”

“Ain’t no thing. So, is that devastatingly handsome Mr. Sam Wesson still working over there?” And with that comment all talk of the mysterious Spencer was tabled and Jensen felt as if he was on level ground again. His laugh was hollow, but true. He shook his head and regretted for the umpteenth time ever showing Steve a picture of Sam in the PHI newsletter.

 

**09 October, 2013 -**

Eliot lay in his bunk reading. Or at least faking it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like to read, he did, but that wasn’t why he pantomimed reading to one of the nurses so she would bring him something to pass the time. She had offered in halting English to read to him as she handed him the hardbound Reader’s Digest Condensed Book, but he declined with a shake of his head. He nearly smiled as he read over the titles. Eliot recognized a few of them and had even read _The Winter of our Discontent_ by Hemingway back in school. The nurse patted his arm, a look of self-satisfaction on her face that she could bring some happiness to his day and then wandered away. 

His plan had changed and that irked him. Tomorrow would have been it, the day that he finally got it all over with, the drama, the pain, the worthlessness, but no. The powers that be saw fit to change the dosage on his pain meds and rather than two pills every four hours, he was down to one pill every six. Eliot had been fucking pissed at first, but then after he thought about it, because well, he had enough time to think about everything, he would just have to recalculate his plan. That’s where the book came in. 

The book was perfect. Stories of considerable length gave it the size and heft that he needed. The book would serve a purpose to Eliot and it wasn’t entertainment. It was getting risky trying to keep his growing stash of hoarded pills from being found, so he plotted a way to hide them in plain sight. After a few hours of thinking, he remembered the secret stash book, a spy 101 device to pass items and intel without detection. It was such an obvious solution that Eliot wanted to punch himself for taking so long in coming up with it.

Last night, when the ward was dark, Eliot passed his time using the edge of the charm on his necklace to crease and perforate the interior pages of the book until he was able to rip out a small stack of little squares. He then slipped the refuse into the smock pocket of one of the workers that cleaned every morning.

Now he lay there, using what strength he had in reserve to apply pressure to the pages that he had _glued_ together with what was left of his _rano vola_ or rice water, this morning. He would just lay it under one of his worthless legs, but Jensen was due in soon and he would no doubt find it.

Eliot let his mind catch on Jensen for a few moments. The man perplexed him. Nearly as much as Parker, only he wasn’t worried that Jensen was going to somehow get him killed for something as silly as misunderstanding the difference between a steak and a stake.

Jensen seemed like a great guy to Eliot, someone that back in the states could be found surrounded by family and friends alike. Hell, Eliot didn’t _do_ attachments, but even he would hang out with a guy like Jensen Ackles. In a different time and a different place maybe, but he would. But as it was, Eliot was stuck here against his choice and Jensen wasn’t and in that there laid the rub. 

Jensen had locked himself away in this tiny medical facility by choice. He remembered thinking the same thing about the doctor-in-charge, Morgan, but with Jensen the feeling was much more definite, defined.

It was almost like he didn’t want to be found, whereas, Eliot did.

A noise drew his eyes to the main door of the ward as Jensen and the petite Indian doctor, _Padma Talley_ , Eliot’s brain supplied, entered talking. He shifted the book in his grasp and glanced below his lowered eyelashes, but over the top of the pages at them.

He hadn’t spent years in his profession without becoming an observer and as much as it would have pained him to admit in the not so distant past, but the past few years working in the shadow of Nate and Sophie, he had only gotten better. 

Jensen and Dr. Talley stepped over to the ward desk, her delicate accent mingling with the richness of Jensen’s deep, barely there drawl. Both of the voices carried across the open expanse of the long room and slid gently into his hearing range.

Dr. Talley held a file up, pointing at something and Eliot watched as Jensen nodded as though agreeing with her, but even from this distance, he could see that the file wasn’t in Jensen’s line of sight. 

_There it was again_ , Eliot thought, his eyes narrowing more in thought. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was off with the scene in front of him, but it was the same nagging feeling that he had yesterday and the day before. 

In the few days before he had his stash book project, Eliot had filled his time by watching the staff and workers of the hospital, from Dr. Morgan all the way down to the woman who brought around the meals. Eliot was fairly positive that she was stealing meds, but he couldn’t prove it, besides, who would he tell anyway. He had watched them charting and chatting, tending and cleaning, everyone working as by rote, but where the doctors and nurses all spent time sitting at that desk working on paperwork, Eliot realized a few days ago that he had never seen Jensen sit there to do his work. He occasionally carried a folder, but he had never seen the man open one. It was such a small insignificant detail, but it gnawed at Eliot’s brain, nonetheless.

Plus, Jensen was intriguing. From his days in little league and a promising high school baseball career to his pride at being a self-proclaimed momma’s boy, Jensen was creeping more and more into Eliot’s thoughts. He could picture clearly how Jensen’s face had looked, a proud sadness that crept had into his eyes when he talked about his nieces and nephew back in Austin. 

And there was the matter of Jensen’s scarred hand.

Yep, the Texan fascinated Eliot. It was as if for every word, every memory, every story that he shared, there was another one, an unspoken one that ate away at the man from the inside out. Eliot hadn’t spent years with the best in the business for nothing not to notice it.

But Jensen’s secrets weren’t the only reason that Eliot found him interesting. 

No, Eliot was a man and when a man sees something as beautiful as cloudless green eyes appraising him or feels something as soft and strong as adept hands rubbing along his skin, well, it was difficult to ignore the spark and flash of want in his mind. Eliot might be broken, but he wasn’t blind. He knew what desire was and he had felt it on no less than several occasions before he was stuck in this bed, in this hospital, in this country. The irony that it was the man that was fighting to fix him, to save him wasn’t lost on him, either. He understood hero worship and how it worked.

He knew that back home, back with the team, everyone saw him as a womanizer, a cad that loved them and left them, but in actuality there were only a handful, a select few that interested him. Sure there was Amy and Kay Lynn, but nobody knew how hard it hit him when he found out that Nate and Sophie had become an item. Sure, Sophie was charming and lovely to look at, but it was Nate’s mind and his rebuilt sense of purpose that caused the blood to flow hot and heavy in Eliot’s groin.

It wasn’t that he was a bisexual, because, fuck, he hated that term along with all the other ones out there; equal-opportunist, sexually confused, bi-curious and whatever else people saw fit to label one another with. 

No. Eliot was a firm believer in a more realistic approach. Life was too short and time too precious to limit oneself to what he or she was _believed_ to want or not want. Curves and soft, supple flesh did it for him as did rock hard muscles and taut skin. Desire was desire, lust was lust, and love was love, the wrappings that any of those things came in was merely a bonus to what was inside the package.

_I wonder what it would be like to unwrap Jensen from his scrubs and coat? Would he be as compassionate and considerate a lover as he is a therapist? Would he take control?_

That thought blazed up as Eliot lay there observing the action beyond his feet. He had never been one to relinquish control in any setting, not even the bedroom. Eliot tried to imagine what sex would be like with Jensen, but his heart wasn’t in it. He silently cursed the fates that ruled his life.

The fact that he wasn’t in a position to act on his desires ate at him worse than being beaten on by some mogul’s henchman or being told how to woo by Sophie. He knew that at one time he could have drawn someone, anyone, even Jensen into his web-like life. He had proven that time and time again in the past. 

But this wasn’t the past and he didn’t have the promise of passion to follow up his words, his touches, or his advances. He was no longer the predator that guarded his secrets while playing with his easily won conquest. He wasn’t anything beside a man full of worthless words in a body that wouldn’t function. 

_And now?_ Eliot’s eyes dropped down below the book and he stared at his motionless lower half. _And now I’m neither predator nor prey. I’m nothing_.

Eliot let his eyes coast up slowly to the pages of the book, his eyes not seeing a word. He could see the doctor and the therapist moving beyond, but he refrained from letting them fully into his view. It was starting to hurt to see the guardedly hopeful expressions on everyone’s faces. 

“Hey, Spencer.” Jensen sat gingerly on the bed by Eliot’s immovable knees. “I’ve got a surprise for you today.”

 _Dammit._ Eliot’s mind screamed for what felt like the thousandth time since he had had woken up.

Eliot allowed the book to shut and dropped it to his side. Jensen hadn’t even snuck up on him this time and still he was caught out in surprise.

“You probably lost your place.” Jensen nodded towards the book.

Inwardly, Eliot cringed as Jensen pulled it out of his hand, but his fear of Jensen finding the alterations it’s warped pages were short lived as Jensen just set it on the side table and smiled down at him.

“Don’t you want to know what it is? I’ve been working on it for a couple of days now, but I didn’t want to say anything until I could get Morgan’s go ahead.” He felt the thin mattress give way again as Jensen sat down and grasp his hand. He wanted to yank it away.

Eliot glanced up at Jensen then, surprised to hear what the man had to say. Jensen’s expression was bordering on full on joy. He gave a half-hearted squeeze and Jensen was off, his voice quick and light.

“So, I figured that since you’ve been here a while now and you are probably sick of the view, which I’m sorry, but I can’t really do anything about, but I can help you in other ways beyond the standard sessions. I was trying to remember what . . . I mean, I know that your whiskers are probably itchy and that laying here day in, day out is dreadfully boring, so I talked to Dr. Morgan. He said if that I could find a way to do it without causing any further trauma to your back and since your other injuries have healed up nicely, I could go ahead with my idea.” 

Eliot had never heard anyone talk so fast before, well, other than Parker on a chocolate bender, but whereas Parker’s sugar high was annoying, Jensen’s excitement was nearly endearing. Even the man’s fingers, usually warm and soft were practically vibrating in Eliot’s hand. He squeezed his approval and listened as Jensen prattled on.

“I was talking about it with Tamanil and between him and a couple of the other staff, we got it figured out, I think. It took some creative engineering and all and I had to wait for Tam to go down to the village to get a few more supplies, but I tried it out last night and I’m almost a hundred percent positive that it’s going to work.” There was a clatter of noise from the other end of the ward, which drew Eliot’s gaze away from Jensen’s. Two of the hospital volunteers and the handyman called Tamanil, with a gurney between them. They weren’t looking back at him, but rather at Jensen, as if waiting for the sign to proceed.

“So, what do you say, Spencer? Want to go have a bath?”

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

It was warm, the bath water and Eliot found himself near tears at how something so basic as bathing could be such a marked improvement on his now otherwise static life.

The men had helped Jensen slide his unmovable body onto a backboard and then onto the gurney. From there they maneuvered him down a short hall, around a corner, and into a plain windowless room. Eliot could see a long tank in the center of the room. The bottom half reminded him of one of the stock tanks that his granddaddy had on his farm, back when he was alive and still farming, only much taller. Connected pipes were welded along the top of the tank with ropes wrapped around them at fairly even intervals. 

“How about a shave first and then we’ll get down to the business of getting you washed up?”

Jensen’s voice drew nearer to the makeshift tub and Eliot turned his head slowly to watch as the man approached with a towel draped across his shoulder and a tray full of supplies. From his angle, he could make out a can of shaving cream and a pan of what he assumed to be water from how gently Jensen sat the tray on the table next to him. Jensen turned then and began fiddling with something next to the tub out of his line of sight.

“I know you would rather do this yourself and while I may not be quite used to shaving someone else, I still have more experience than most of the nurse’s here. So I’ll go slow and you need to pull on this if you need me to stop.” 

Eliot gave a small yank to the cord that Jensen had pressed into his hand and a small bell rang down at the opposite end of the tub. Jensen’s eyes twinkled down at him, obviously the man had thought of everything when he was planning his watery adventure. It caused a deep ache within his chest to think that someone cared enough about him even now to think of his needs beyond those that were purely medical in nature.

“I figured my hands were going to be busy, so this way you can get my attention if you need me to stop or something.” Jensen draped a towel across his chest, the cottony nubs scratchy against his bare skin. Eliot could feel the nimble fingers tucking the ends between his shoulder’s and the slanted hammock-like contraption that the rest of his body was supported on. “Now, do you usually have something, like a goatee or a mustache?” 

Eliot held the cord gently, the bell stayed silent. He had sported all kinds of facial hair in the past, but he didn’t want Jensen to have to struggle with trying to make him look good. Besides, he had no one to pretty up for anyway.

“Ah, a smooth face then?”

He gave it a soft yank and a tinkling sound filled the space.

“I’m so relieved to hear that, Spencer. I got to tell you, that I was a bit nervous about trying to follow any style or something that may resemble one. I can do an all-over without a problem.” The scissors gleamed dully in Jensen’s hand when he picked them up. “I hope.” Jensen grinned down at him and then ever so slowly he started to snip at the wild hair along his jaw.

Jensen hummed softly as he worked, stopping to appraise his work or occasionally sending him reassuring glances. He laughed, a beautifully deep and welcoming sound in the otherwise sterile room when Eliot tugged on the bell pull to answer that ‘no’, he didn’t want a haircut as well when Jensen asked. He spoke softly after that, the mirth still evident in his voice.

“I’ve got say I’m happy about that. I can barely trim my own hair with clippers. I would hate to see what I would do to yours. Besides, I think you look good with your hair longer. It lends to your mystery. You know, makes you all dashing and devastating. “

Eliot closed his eyes as the blush started to color Jensen’s cheeks. He didn’t know if it was to help the other man save face or to prevent himself from getting lost in his therapist’s wide embarrassed eyes, but it felt like the thing to do.

He felt a cloth, just a step away from hot, as it covered one side of his face. Jensen switched sides to begin trimming along his other jaw line. 

He reveled in the heat, letting it soak into his skin. It disturbed Eliot how good this felt, the bath, the pampering. When the men had first settled his body onto the sail material he could feel the anger bubbling up, the rage trying to escape, but now he was glad that Jensen found a way to make this happen.

The scissors were replaced with a razor. Eliot let his mind drift along with the soft scrape of the blade across his stubble. 

He marveled at how he missed this, the careful touch of another, especially since he had never had it before. His last serious relationship had been with Amy, but that had been tumultuous at best. Hell, he had a better relationship with her dad, Willie, than he did with her towards the end. 

_I’ve never felt this pampered before._ The word pampered, followed by coddled and babied skirted around his brainpan. It chafed at his memories. 

He had always been the tough guy, the man that could and would fight ‘til the end. Eliot had proven it several times over in his life. Tough guys weren’t treated gently or with softness, yet here he was allowing someone else to shave and bathe him. 

Eliot knew it should bother him more, but weirdly it didn’t. Maybe it was because he had his plan in place and a goal in mind that didn’t make him tell Jensen to stop his ministrations. 

It would be soon now. 

He had made peace with the idea. 

_Will Jensen miss me_?

Eliot dismissed the thought nearly as fast as it had sailed to the forefront of his mind. It wouldn’t matter if Jensen missed him, because the therapist hardly knew him. No, the Eliot that Jensen knew wasn’t who he was, that Eliot was an immovable shell of a man that was always going to be a burden on someone else now.

He concentrated on the water that was lapping at his hands and wrists, which were resting alongside his hips in the bath water. He was willing the rest of his body to feel it but even as he centered his mind on the muscle groups and joints that usually propelled him forward with decisive strides, he felt nothing. 

He had spent the past several weeks concentrating on his wiggling his toes. Eliot tried again right then, praying that the warmth of the water would help, but he didn’t even have to open his eyes to look, he knew that they hadn’t moved. He would have felt ripples in the water had he been successful.

He swallowed down a sigh at his failure.

“Still with me, Spencer?” Eliot hadn’t heard Jensen quit humming above him. 

He opened his eyes and peered up to see those eyes framed with the ridiculously long eyelashes looking back at him. He watched as they shifted from smiling and satisfied to take on a hint of worry. 

“Okay down there?” Eliot wanted to tell Jensen, that no he wasn’t okay, that he wouldn’t ever be okay again, but he tried for a cocky smile and pulled the bell cord. From the look of Jensen’s eyes, the man didn’t believe it for one second but he accepted it as an answer anyway.

“Good. I thought maybe that you had fallen asleep. I can hear Dr. Morgan now. _You let him drown, Jensen? It was only supposed to be a bath._ ” Jensen smiled at his own self-depreciating impersonation and spoke again as he removed the whisker-covered towel from Eliot’s chest. “Trust me, I won’t let the good doctor’s work go to waste, Spencer. I’d never let you drown. Not in a tub like this.

Jensen stepped to the foot of the tub and appraised his work. He nodded and smiled before stepping back to Eliot’s side.

“Here’s where I make the offer of letting someone else do the actual bathing if you would like. It usually falls to the nurse’s like you would assume, but since some of them are a couple of villages away giving inoculations and the other’s are either working or resting, I kind of figured that I would do it, if that’s okay?” He paused to allow Eliot to answer; his hands folded and unfolded the washcloth repeatedly as if he was nervous of the answer. 

Eliot had attuned his listening to Jensen’s manner of thinking much earlier on and had expected the small speech to end with question. He had even anticipated the question correctly and was ringing the bell before Jensen had even stopped talking earning him another quick flash of a grin.

 _Nope. Haven’t lost my touch_. He confirmed to himself as he smiled back.

“Alright-y then, let’s get you cleaned up.” Jensen placed his hands in the water next to Eliot’s left leg and then started to lather up the soap. His voice was calm and even as he talked about his siblings back home. Eliot lost himself in the rise and fall of Jensen’s calming tone as it washed over him along with the sudsy water. The antidotes were a mix of humorous and heartwarming. He let his eyes close again and concentrated on the soft slosh of the water against his chest.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now.” Jensen chuckled and Eliot pulled the cord in what he hoped the other man would take as a joking reply. 

“No, Spencer, no sleeping.” The wet hand smacked lightly at his shoulder before it continued on with whatever part of Eliot’s lower body it was washing. 

Eliot let his mind concentrate on that touch; he felt the small breeze of air provided by Jensen’s movements ghost across the moisture that had run down to his nipple. The soft sting of the slap and that dampness made him wonder what Jensen’s mouth licking and biting his chest would feel like. 

_I bet he would be ravishing in bed, all wanton and needy_.

He pictured Jensen below him, his hair mussed from the debauchery and his face flushed as he came. It was a pretty picture that was forming in Eliot’s mind. He imagined Jensen, already taller than him by a few inches, kneeling between his spread thighs with those luscious lips wrapped obscenely around his cock and then slithering, crawling his way up to loom over him. 

_Would I finally bottom for Jensen_? Eliot pondered the image again before he decided that _Hell, yeah_. Jensen could have him.

His thoughts continued on that path for a while, imagining all of the possibilities. He felt the washcloth as it finally started to coast and swish across his ribs and sides. With the supple weight of Jensen’s hand behind it, the cloth rubbed and caressed his arms and shoulders. 

The bath was meant to be practical, a means to rid Eliot of the staleness that his skin carried from the sponge baths, it wasn’t meant to be sensuous.

But it was.

His eyes shot open at the barely audible utterance that Jensen let out and he glanced up to see the pink splotches that danced high on Jensen’s cheekbones.

“It’s okay, Spencer.” The words were barely audible. They were meant to be soothing, but Eliot found himself troubled by them anyway. The noise had been telling, he wasn’t a moron and neither was Jensen. He slammed his eyes shut again and started to mentally berate himself for being a hopeless fool several times over, but he was interrupted by a soft gasp from above. He knew without a doubt that it wasn’t him that had made the noise this time, so he peeked up in time to see Jensen stare up at the ceiling of the room. His lips moving silently in a plea, Jensen stepped back down to the base of the tub and started to rinse out the cloth.

Eliot yanked on the cord, once and then twice. The bell jangled and clanged against the tub. He pulled hard enough on the third try to get Jensen’s attention that the cord slipped from his fingers. He grasped for it, but it dropped away deeper into the water.

He tipped his head up on his neck, the inactive muscles pulling obstinately as he fought to catch Jensen’s eye.

He got an eyeful all right, but it wasn’t of Jensen or anything to deal with the man. There, from the dark thatch of hair that nestled around stood his cock. It wasn’t as hard as it could be, but the tip was still nudging against the surface of the water. It took a few seconds for him to realize what was happening, but when it sunk in, he was mortified.

_Shit!_

He shut his eyes as a child would in that if-I-can’t-see-you,-you-can’t-see-me sort of way. It was stupid and well, childish, but he could only take so much humiliation through this ordeal.

“Hey. Hey, Spencer? It’s okay. It’s natural.” Jensen’s voice was off, the usual calmness absent.

Eliot rolled his eyes behind his closed lids.

“It’s the nerves in your body trying to spark, trying to get the synapses to spark. Can you feel anything? Did, um were you thinking . . .ah, of anything?”

Weirdly, it helped that Jensen seemed at a loss on how to deal with this as Eliot was. 

“You . . . I mean to say, remember that we aren’t one hundred percent positive on the extent of your injury yet. If you were thinking about something, or rather someone, this could be a good sign. It could mean that the neurologistical flashes from your brain to your lower extremities _are_ working, they’re just sort of, well, compromised right now.”

Eliot thought about it, how good Jensen’s hands had felt coasting up his chest and how he had wanted to reach out to grab one of those hands and pull it lower. Had he caused this with his mind or had his body decided to act on its own?

“Spencer?” The noise of rattling metal echoed in the stillness of the room as Jensen pulled a stool up close to the tub. Eliot felt him touch his hand and he tried to pull it away, but Jensen caught it up in his anyway. “Hey, it’s okay, really. Anyway, it happened, _it_ happened. Even if your back injury is more complete than incomplete, this shows us that you can still be . . .um, active. Believe me when I say that it doesn’t matter why you got hard, just that you were able to, you know? 

“I- I mean, in school we had to take this class where we were to, I don’t know, interview for lack of a better word, people that had all sorts of injuries. I talked with people that had sustained all sorts of injuries; skiers with blown ACLs, cowboys with ripped apart rotator cuffs, accident survivors that should never have lived given the way that they had suffered, but there was this one guy, Adam Pikelas was his name, who had broken his back when he fell from some scaffolding.”

Eliot listened as Jensen’s voice grew stronger as he traipsed through his memories. He had no doubt that Jensen was trying to make him feel better, rather than letting him wallow in embarrassment, but he was skeptical that anything that the therapist said was going to help. 

“Adam was a young guy. Working construction during the day and taking night classes. He had just bought a ring for his girlfriend, though he hadn’t given it to her yet. Anyway, he was worried that he wasn’t going to be able to have what most call a _real_ life, you know, marriage, babies, and all the other things that his friends were doing. Of course, me talking to him was after the fact, but he was incredibly forthcoming with how his thinking was at that time. I learned a lot from Adam.” Jensen leaned his forearms on the edge of the tub and let his hands dangle down. It would have been oh so easy for Eliot to reach up and grab at one, to feel safe, tethered, but his pride held him back. 

“What I’m trying to tell you, Spencer, is that _yes_ you may be stuck in a chair for the rest of your life, but at least you’ll have a life. Adam wanted to die. He told me that. That he didn’t want to be a burden on his family or on his girlfriend Catie. But the thing to remember, Spencer, is that that is the injury talking and not the heart or the mind. His family promised him that he would never be a burden and Catie ended up proposing to him, but it all worked out for him.”

Eliot slit his eyes open and he glared up at the earnest face of his therapist. It may have worked out for that guy, but he had a family, he had someone to pull him through.

“Now, I know that you are probably wondering about Adam, about how his story could have anything to do with you? Well, I’ll tell you, Spencer. Adam and I talked most of an afternoon and then when Catie, who by now was his wife came to get him and she got out of their van and I saw the size of her pregnant belly, well, I knew that while he had been injured, he hadn’t let the injury rule his life.

“I met with Adam one more time that year and I asked him how the, well, how sex worked for them. Not to be a Nosey-Parker but to understand how the mechanics worked, you know? He explained about his occasional misfires, if you will, and that sometime the added stimulation in the form of a vibrator could get him to, um, rise to the occasion when he needed a bit of help. He also had the coolest chair. Man, you should have seen that thing. The seatback tipped back and locked and the arms could be lowered, um, well, the ‘cowgirl’ position is pretty popular in their house.”

 _I could get used to seeing that shade of red_. Eliot thought as Jensen’s cheeks flushed throughout his little spiel. But Eliot still wasn’t sure about why he was telling him about this Adam and his wife. Sure, he had gotten hard, but that didn’t mean it was anything other than the damaged nerves that Jensen had already said it was.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you can lead a normal life and have a normal and active sex life, _even_ if your injury doesn’t heal as fully as we hope. I know that you’re embarrassed and that’s okay. Hell, I know that I would be, but you’ve got to understand, Spencer, your life may be completely different than how you had it planned out, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be just as fulfilling. I want to promise you, you _can_ come back from this. People do survive traumatic events that were never a part of their plans and yet they find the strength to go on. I know that you can too.”

Jensen stood then and pulled the stool back away from the makeshift tub. Eliot closed his eyes again and let the man work. All too soon the rest of the guys were back and he was lifted up again and returned to his bed that was now remade with clean sheets.

He had a lot to think about. He knew that his life wasn’t going to be easy if he gave up on his plan, but then, really, when had it ever been easy? He decided that later that night, after the staff dwindled and escaped the ward for wherever they went, he was going to let his hands do some reconnaissance. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He needed to be sure of whether it was his thoughts of a certain PT sans clothing or just the cranked-out nerves that made his body react earlier.

Eliot watched as his meal of rice water and pureed vegetables was brought to him. 

_I’ve got to get out of here_. 

 

**13 October 2013 –**

_The days just drag on and on and on and on_ , Eliot thought miserably. He was never one for inactivity, but this was really starting to kill the newfound kernel of hope that Jensen had planted in his mind during his bath a few days ago. He heard the soft rubber soles of a nurse approach his bed. He looked up at her apologetic face.

“Il est temps, Monsieur.” He nodded and closed his eyes as she folded back his sheet and blanket.

 _Dammit_! 

That was another thing that truly sucked about his situation. He understood the need for a catheter, especially since he had no desire to lay in a puddle of his own urine, but could they give him the privacy curtain or something. When she finished, the nurse pulled off her gloves and touched his shoulder. Those chilly fingers actually made him glad that he couldn’t feel her touch everywhere.

“Tous ont fini, je suis désolés, monsieur.” Eliot merely blinked at her and she hurried away.

He started to do the awkward version of pilates that he had developed a week or so ago, where he would tense and release various muscle groups until he could barely stand it anymore. Eliot tried to avoid working anything that dealt with the area of his back injury, but if he ever wanted to get out of this bed, he was going to have to be in the best shape he could be.

Eliot glanced at the book next to his water glass on the table and wondered how he should go about getting rid of it. He knew now that he was going to beat this, he was going to leave this place someday, and it wasn’t going to be in a body bag or whatever the Madagascan equivalency was. No, he was going to make this work. Hell, he had reinvented himself to some degree when he had thrown in with Nate and the rest of the team, he could do it again. He just needed to find something to occupy his time, now that he wouldn’t be able to work.

There were voices somewhere beyond the door of the ward; he turned his head as best he could to get a glimpse, but from his current position, it was impossible to see that far. Eliot tried to block out the white noise of the rest of the room so that he could concentrate on what was being said, but other than the fact that the few words he heard were English, he was unsuccessful. 

_Fuck, now I’m trying to make this place into a fuckin’ soap opera_. He scowled and crossed his arms across his chest.

He glanced up at the window and watched the rivulets of water as they raced to the ledge. Even watching the rain was boring. The roof had several leaks, one sprung up a few days ago to start saturating the bed next to his. It had been promptly moved, but now Eliot felt even more isolated down at his end.

Tired of his muscle tension, Eliot decided to work on the second issue that he was going to have to face, his voice. He had woken up the other morning to a humming noise coming from his throat. It had been like he was talking in his sleep, but due to the damage his words were unintelligible gibberish, just a series of low, stuttering moans. Since then, Eliot had been working on getting his voice back with a few minutes of working at turning those moans into words every waking hour. It hurt, been when did it ever not hurt to heal.

The sound of a loud thump crawled through the air and Jensen entered the ward. Eliot couldn’t see him yet, but he could recognize nearly everybody by the tread of the footfalls. He prepared himself for the never-ending encouragement that the therapist had bestowed upon him since that very first day he had woken up. The bed dipped at his side and Eliot peered up to see that he was right, well, right and wrong. It was Jensen, but there wasn’t a single trace of happiness to be found on his face, instead a grimace darkened his fine features.

“Hey.” Jensen said, casting a sideways look at him. Eliot cocked his eyebrow in response. “It’s nothing, I’m just . . .” Jensen ran his hand through his hair and looked out the window, the dreariness from outside reflected in his face. 

_He looks exhausted_. Eliot thought. He felt like this was the first time that he could observe Jensen up close without being caught since the man was obviously preoccupied.

“I don’t know what you do at home, for a living, I mean, but are there ever days that you just want to walk away from it all and scream ‘Mulligan’?” 

It sounded like a redundant question to him, but Eliot stretched out his hand anyway and wrapped it lightly around Jensen’s. He gave it a soft squeeze and then again. He waited for Jensen to look down at him so that he could try to talk with his expressions as well, but the man just continued to gaze out into the rain. It took another tug for him to turn his hand over so that Eliot could try to offer him some comfort, even though he had no idea what he was doing exactly, but it felt like the right thing to do.

“Sorry, Spencer. I’m just having one of those days, you know? Like everything that you didn’t want to deal with or that you have been avoiding decided to join forces and rush you all at once. I . . . let’s get started shall we?” Jensen rose from the bed and turned to help Eliot roll onto his side, the metal rod of the back brace they had outfitted him with, dug into his neck.

Eliot knew as soon as he started to turn his head that something was off, it wasn’t pain or any kind of sensation, but his body felt odd balance wise. His hand shot out and he gripped Jensen’s wrist to get his attention, but the other man didn’t stop moving, not until it was nearly too late. Eliot came to rest mostly on his back at the edge of his bed. Jensen stumbled back into the table, a look of anguished shock distorting his image.

“Jesus! Oh my God, Spencer. Fuck, I am so sorry. Here, no don’t try to move anything.” Jensen wrapped his hands firmly around Eliot’s elbows and leaned over him to get his attention. “It’s okay, hey, it’s going to be okay. Calm down. Stop!”

Eliot finally stopped trying to figure out which end was up when Jensen raised his voice. He hoped that his look wasn’t as horrified as the look that Jensen was giving him right then. He raised a hand and clutched at the closet thing he could, which turned out to be Jensen’s thigh. Jensen turned away then and called out for someone to come help. A scurry of movement could be heard and suddenly there were several more worried faces looking down at him, Eliot felt like he was in petting zoo when the hands started to reach for him.

“On three, okay? One. Two. Three.” Jensen’s voice was authoritative, yet Eliot could still hear a slight tremor as his body was centered on the bed. “Thanks, I got it from here. Thanks.”

Eliot stared at the ceiling until everyone else left, then he angled his eyes towards Jensen, fearful of moving even one muscle. Jensen was staring at him, sorrow nearly oozing from his pores.

“I’m . . . sorry, Spencer, that was all my fault. I just . . . Dammit! I wasn’t thinking and I’ve helped you move so many times. I just . . . “ 

Eliot wanted to reach out for him, to tell him that it was okay, but without a voice he felt even more helpless than usual. 

“Look. I’m going to get Dr. Morgan, okay? I want you to be checked out thoroughly before I do any more damage.” Jensen stood and started to straighten the few items that remained on the bedside table. “I really am sorry, Spencer. I’ll see about getting someone else to . . . what’s this?”

Eliot had been tracking Jensen’s movements and knew that he had been found out. He knew he should have figured out how to get rid of that damned book.

“Seriously. What is this?” Jensen stared at the book in his hands, the front cover and first several pages folded back so that the small fortune of tiny white pills were visible. “Why do you have this? Haven’t you been taking your meds? I – Spencer?” 

Jensen’s hand was cold as it wrapped tightly around his own. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to die. Not anymore, but how could he get that across to Jensen now?

“What – were you saving these for a reason?” Jensen stayed hunched over him; his green eyes bright with anger. “Has nothing I said gotten through to you? You can overcome this. You can. I don’t understand why. I mean, I understand why, I should know that much, but why _now_? Christ, Spencer. You’ve made so much headway since you first got here. You are getting stronger every day. I –“

Eliot was glad that he had finally gotten Jensen to feel his grip. It took every ounce of strength he had to get the man to stop spewing out questions. There they were, a partially broken man stuck in a bed with no voice and a perfectly healthy man that suddenly looked more fragile and damaged than anyone Eliot had ever seen and he had seen some seriously fucked up shit in his life.

“I did this, didn’t I?”

Eliot stared at Jensen. _How the fuck did he come to that conclusion_?

“I’ve been working with you for how long now, six weeks, give or take a few days and I’ve only been worried about getting you up and around again. I haven’t been listening. I can’t believe that I nearly did it again. I nearly made you do it didn’t I?”

Eliot started squeezing as tight as he could, but Jensen just carried on, his eyes staring at those stupid little pills in that damned book. It had been a fucked up idea to begin with, Eliot knew that, but now he felt like the biggest tool alive. He wanted Jensen to look at him again, to actually look at him, but their usual method of communication seemed to be broken. He clamped his hand down as tight as it would go, but there was no response, not to him at least.

“I knew that I should have just given it up. I should have listened to Will, he knew that I couldn’t do it, but no, I had to try and prove them wrong. But I’m just . . . Jesus!”

Jensen wrenched his hand free and started to stride away only to turn back and look down at him, Eliot was trying to form the words with his lips, but nothing was coming out. Even if could have spoken then, he doubted that it would have gotten through the wall of disappointment and loathing that had built up in Jensen’s entire posture.

“I’m going to get Dr. Morgan for you and then he’ll figure out where to go from there.”

This time Jensen did start to stride away. The book made a tremendous clang against the metal cupboard that housed the ward supplies. The doors were still rattling against their fittings as the tail end of Jensen’s lab coat disappeared around the corner.

For the first time in a long time, Eliot wanted to cry, but he didn’t, he started working on his humming and moaning . He wanted to be ready for the next time he saw Jensen.

 

**23 October 2013 –**

_Eins, deux, cztery, four, cinco, shest, yedi, acht, devet, kuni_

Eliot was thinking again or rather trying not to think anymore. Christ, he hated the amount of time he had on his hands. It gave him way too many opportunities to take out every decision that he had ever made, examine it thoroughly and call himself an idiot before he can makepeace with himself. After that he would think of his next fuck-up and the next and the next. Contrarily though, for every miserable job he had ever taken before there was one from the not so distant past that cancelled it out.

Victor Dubenich was a shit and he played them all like a pro. However, what that shortsighted little prick of a man hadn’t thought of when he brought them all together was that they would stay together, coasting the fringes of the law as they sought out corruption and greedy bastards. Eliot felt a twitch at the corner of his lip when he thought about how they, as a team, had taken both Dubenich and Latimer both out last year. 

_Yeah, that job? That job alone, cancelled out about an entire year worth of horrible deeds_ , Eliot considered silently.

Eliot turned his head to his right and watched as the rain curled and streamed down the windowpane. It was apparently the monsoon season in Madagascar or at least that’s what the friendly nurse had informed him this morning.

Lying there, Eliot wondered what Dubenich had thought about in prison, other than his revenge on Nathan Ford, of course. Because Eliot could tell anyone that would listen now, that if that was all that man had thought of for the three odd years that he was there, then he should have been in the psych wing of Rockford and not in with general population. He would tell them that he knows what he is talking about. He might have thought that he knew then, but now he had the experience to back it up. Hell, it’s only been a couple of months and Eliot was just so damned tired of himself.

It wouldn’t even pain him to admit, to himself at least, that he would probably give anything to listen to Hardison blather on and on in his sci-fi tech geek speak or to listen to the socially inept Parker making stupid comments every five seconds. 

_Hell, I would even listen to Nate and Sophie as they misunderstood and awkwardly bantered their way through their jumbled and lengthy courtship again._ Eliot curled his top lip in disdain. He couldn’t believe that his own company had forced him to come to that conclusion.

 _And that’s the thing that is really bothering you, isn’t it?_ Eliot chided himself.

_It’s not the fact that you’re stuck in some do-gooder clinic in a country that you were never supposed to be in, spending your days being turned this way and that because you can’t even do it your own damn self. No. It’s the fact that even if you were back home, you would still be the odd man out. Nate and Sophie have finally seen through their messy tangles and come out the other side together. And Parker and Hardison? Who the fuck ever saw that one actually working? And where does that leave you, huh, big guy? As the lone wolf, the shadow, the fuckin’ bloody hitter that is too violent to love._

Eliot pushed out the breath that he had been holding through his personal hate-fest. He lay on his cot, panting as though he ran a marathon. His nostrils flared angrily. 

A squeak from further down the way had him casting a glance at the doorway, the same doorway that Jensen had shot through four days ago. He saw a couple of the nurses talking as they stood comparing charts.

His heart physically hurt as he remembered watching Jensen doing the exact same thing with Dr. Talley just last week. He hadn’t realized just how much he had looked forward to the Texan’s company until he, in typical Eliot Spencer fashion, managed to piss off the only friend he had here. Apparently, the patented Spencer charm must have been washed away at sea, because Eliot couldn’t seem to catch the eye of any of the staff in the past few days. It was all business around his end of the ward.

He could still hear the sound of the book as it slammed against the medicine cabinet right before Jensen stormed out. Eliot shivered at the memory of the piteous look that the tiny Madagascan nurse sent him before she had dropped to crawl around on the floor until she could gather up every last pill as if they were a tiny pieces of gold. 

There was an irony there; he could see it plain as day. He was a multi-millionaire that only had to work a few hours here and there every couple of days and he was currently stuck in one of the poorest health facilities on the face of the earth. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

 _Christ_ , he thought, _Nate was right. What’s the point in having millions if you didn’t accept the responsibility that came with it?_ Of course, Nate did also mention something about having fun and that surely wasn’t happening. Besides their clients, what good did the team do? Did he himself ever do anything for anybody without expecting to be paid? 

_No._

That hurt worse than anything else had since he had woken up. The idea that he acted as if he was helping people, saving them from evil, but in reality, he was still as greedy as those that the team took down. He hated that feeling. Eliot was trying to remember just how much money he had squirreled away when he heard a new voice.

“Hi. I was wondering if you could help me.”

There was a man speaking English in the ward. 

Eliot leveled his eyes at the man or at least as well as he could from his position, trying to get a read of what type of guy he was, but since it wasn’t the voice that he wanted to hear, needed to hear, Eliot turned his head back to the window. 

His game of turtle was short-lived though as the soft _thwack_ of wet sandal leather on the tiled floor told him that he was soon going to be forced into listening to yet someone else telling him that it was going to get better. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t because the only person had faith in his recovery, that had believed in it so strongly that it made Eliot want to believe himself, had fled because he was too much of an asshole to respond.

“So, you’re the mysterious Spencer that has Jensen all worked up.” 

Eliot looked away from watching the dust motes swirl around in the dreary shaft of light that the window provided. There was the blonde man, broad and tanned, standing next to his bed, a look of bemusement on his face.

“May I?” Eliot hadn’t even gotten to nod before the man was dragging the chair closer to his bed and dropped down into it. He continued to watch as the man settled back and crossed an ankle over his knee, his hands lying motionless in his lap.

“You are a handsome one, alright. Not that Jensen said so, but the way he talked, well, he has a lot invested in you.”

The urge to tell this presumptuous fucker to get out was crawling towards the tip of Eliot’s tongue. What did he know about what Jensen said or even what he didn’t say about Eliot and his time stuck in this damn ward.

“Still not talking, huh? I figured that Jensen would have gotten you to come around by now. He can be so damned charming and sincere that you want to take him home to meet the folks the first day you meet him. But then you stop and think ‘no’, I don’t want to share him with anyone else.” The man chuckled and then nodded at Eliot, “that how it was for you?”

The muscles in his jaw started to ache as Eliot clenched his teeth together. He went back to watching the dust bob and weave on the invisible breeze along the ceiling.

“You can ignore me all you want, but try as hard as you can because I’m going to make you hear what I have to say and I’m not going to hold your hand or baby you in any way, shape, or form. Jensen sees you as this beautiful but broken man. A man that if he only tries hard enough, coddles you enough, and encourages you enough, he will heal you through sheer willpower alone. And before you go thinking that I don’t know what I’m talking about, I do. I’ve been a registered nurse for going on nine years, so I know exactly what you are facing and even more so, I know Jensen.”

 _Asshole, you better shut the hell up about Jensen._ Eliot glared at the man, which only caused the jerk’s face to brighten. _I’m going to kick your ass, fucker. If I could get out of this bed . . ._

Eliot’s thoughts abandoned him then. Of course, he couldn’t get out of this bed. He was never going to be able to get out of this damned bed.

“You know? You don’t really look like the host of a self-pity party, but whatever. I just came to see Jensen and since he’s currently AWOL, I thought that I would get to know you.” 

He let his eyes shift a bit, letting the profile of the man into his peripheral vision. 

“Yeah, did you know that? That Jensen has gone missing? I got a phone call from a Dr. Talley, sounds like a lovely woman, who informed me that Jensen had yelled at a patient and then fled the compound. Now, like I said, I know Jensen and _that right there_ , that is not the Jensen Ackles I know.” The man sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Eliot watched the jaunty angle of the man’s shoulders fall then.

“Look, I can only assume that you were that patient. Jensen has called me a few times, enlisting my help in trying to help him get you back on the path to recovery. I just . . . I know that Jensen can be intense. The man has a right, you know? I just want to make sure that he is okay and if making you see that your health and recovery is going to help him, to make him understand that he makes a difference, well, then count me in.”

Eliot stared at the man’s face, their blue eyes clashing briefly before they settled into appraising glances. He wanted to talk to Jensen, but from what this guy was saying, that wasn’t going to happen right now, so he was going to have to make a decision. Trust the stranger so that they could work together or suffer alone.

He lifted his hand from his side and offered it to the man. His throat protested as he attempted to clear it. “Spencer.” He rasped out.

“Spencer.” The man repeated as he clasped Eliot’s hand firmly and shook it. “Steve. It’s nice to meet you.”

Eliot nodded slightly and when Steve released his hand he reached for the plastic glass of water on the small table next to his bed. It was tepid, but it worked to bring moisture to his inactive throat.

“Tell me about him.” It sounded strange, his voice, even to him, but the other man merely smiled warmly and settled back in his chair.

“Jensen? Well, Jensen is probably one of the best men I will ever meet. He bends over backwards to help those in need, often forgetting to take care of himself in the process. He’s passionate about his family, his friends, and luckily for you, his work. He doesn’t quit or give up. Ever.”

 _Not ever_. Eliot’s mind supplied bitterly as the other man continued talking. _Not until he met me_.

The lightness in the clouds started to dim as Steve rambled on and on about what he knew about Jensen. His words wove a tale of a hard-working, fun-loving man that mirrored most of the stories that Jensen had already told him, yet there was still a blank in the history. The notable absence of how Jensen came to work for the charitable organization rather than running a successful practice back in Texas and how he came to possess that scar on his hand.

At one point, Eliot pointed at his hand and whispered in his gravelly voice the word ‘scar’, but Steve shook his head and replied.

“Not my tale to tell, man. I wish I could because it might help you out, you know? But that is for Jensen to tell.”

The dimness fell to dusk and Steve continued on. He stopped long enough to fetch his guitar so that he could strum a bit while he spoke; he would stop talking long enough to sing occasionally, just a few lines of a song that he and Jensen had written together or one that Eliot knew. He even joined in a couple of times, only a barely recognizable word due to the weakness of the muscles in his throat, but he croaked them out anyway.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

Jensen leaned against the door of the ward and took in the heartbreaking sight in front of him. Where he had failed, yet again, Steve had succeeded. The California native was perched on the side of Spencer’s bed strumming softly at the guitar propped on his knee. The sweet, mournful sound of two voices, one lush and full, the other cracked and rusty, as their harmonizing filled the ward and rushed softly into his ears. Jensen frowned as he recognized the song that they were singing.

_Speak to me_  
Quietly and clear  
Then tell me why you’re here  
And tell me where you’re coming from  
Cause I can’t see  
Why you’re leave here so early  
Was I wrong or were we  
Getting along just fine. 

Glancing at the other occupied beds, Jensen noted how every eye was turned to the duo at the end of the room.

He tried not to be bitter. He really did. 

But Steve had been in the country for what, less than twenty-four hours and he had accomplished a feat that Jensen couldn’t in the past several weeks. In all the hours he had spent working Spencer’s body and talking about everything under the sun, he hadn’t even thought to try music. 

_At least I was right about one thing. Spencer really does have a wonderful voice_. Jensen gazed a few moments longer before he turned and left the room as quietly as he could.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

The water dripped from the leaves high above him, as Steve finished walking the last few meters across the road from the medical compound to the staff housing. The monsoon season had started a few days ago according to the Madagascan man that Steve had hitched a ride from in the capital city of Antananarivo. Madagascar surely wasn’t Thailand, but it had its own simple, yet striking beauty, even in the rain. He used the back of his hand to push the wet hair off his forehead.

Crossing the muddy terrain, Steve headed for the group of huts that acted as housing for the staff. He had been here once before a few days after Jensen himself had arrived, to help him settle in and smooth out the transition, so he knew which hut was Jen’s. Steve was thankful that he had stowed his belongings at the hospital right then, as there was no way that the bag that housed his guitar wouldn’t have leaked but good in the downpour.

“Hey, um he’s not here.” Steve pulled his head out of the doorway to Jensen’s hut. He couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at being caught, but his attitude changed when he saw the massive man standing at the corner of the structure, dark hair nearly black with rain, plastered against his brow. He noted a dampening envelope in the giant’s hand. 

“Oh, I, well, do you know when Jensen will be back?”

“He went to Antsiranana with Tamanil. For supplies.” 

“Yeah? You’re Sam, right? The computer guy?” Steve watched as the broad shoulders in front of him unfurled as the tension drained out of them and a curiosity sprang forth in the gaze that was assessing him. He held out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Steve. Steve Carlson. Jensen and I go back a ways.”

“Sam Wesson. Come on. You can stay at mine until Jensen gets back.” 

Between the strength and the warmth of the hand clutching his and the voice as smooth and viscous as warmed honey, Steve hoped that the rain would continue for the rest of the night, forcing everyone to find indoor activities to pass the time.

 

**24 October, 2013 -**

“I’m glad you thought to find a dry place to wallow.”

Jensen shrugged a shoulder at Steve’s comment, but he slid over on the downed palm tree anyway. 

They sat there in silence, rain dripping steadily down around them from the canopy above as the waves crashed against the shoreline in the distance. It wasn’t Steve’s fault. Jensen knew that, but what he had witnessed last night had made his own shortcomings that much more vivid in Jensen’s mind and try as he might, he couldn’t get them to fade. He had tried so hard and yet he failed. Again. A brave sea bird swooped down in the distance. Steve nudged Jensen’s thigh, lightly at first and then with a touch harder until Jensen tilted his head enough to shoot him a sideways glance.

“I met your Spencer last night.” Steve said before he paused to allow Jensen to speak; he simply carried on when his friend only tilted his head a bit towards him. “I like him. He seems like a pretty good guy. Maybe kinda heavy handed in his ‘oh-woe-is-me act’, but I think you can get him on the right track again.”

“I – yeah, probably not.” Jensen replied sadly as he pulled at a piece of bark that was loose on the trunk.

“I think you can. Hell, I know you can. You can be very persuasive when you need to be and you know it. You got me to quit drinking! I was one step away from losing everything and you pulled me through. My parents couldn’t. Riley couldn’t. Shit, Ferris was gonna can me and you talked her out of it so I could keep my job. Jesus, Jensen that was all you.”

Jensen scowled at his friend’s passionate exclamation. 

“C’mon, Jen. I have never known you to back down from a fight.”

“You’ve known me for barely over a year now, how do you know what I’m like?” It was a low blow, but Jensen wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk. Steve was silent next to him; the puddle of rain at their feet grew into a pool as the silence spread between them. 

Unable to stand it anymore, Jensen finally glanced up at his friend; to say that the incredulous look facing him was uncomfortable, would have been putting it mildly.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Jen.” The words were spoken quietly, yet they dripped with a vehemence that Jensen had never heard in Steve’s voice before. “Just fuck you.”

“I – Steve, I . . . just . . .” Jensen shifted a closer as a new drip started to stream steadily onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I am. I just don’t think that . . . I went to Antsiranana –“

“So Sam said.” Steve interrupted tersely.

“You finally met Sam?” Jensen head whip around and he shot a surprised glance at Steve.

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about Sam Wesson right now. We’re talking about Spencer and why you’re avoiding him.” 

“I . . .” Jensen sighed. He felt so overwhelmed right now, the trip into town, the sleepless nights before that, the agitation that he felt for his own actions in the ward. It had all become so heavy lately. “I went to Antsiranana to see about moving Spencer to the hospital there. He should have been moved as soon as we were safe to do so. They’ve got better technology than we do and the proper staff to care for him there. We’re just not set up –“

“Bullshit.” Jensen could see that Steve had wanted to interrupt before he did and frankly, he was surprised that he got that much out.

“It’s true!” Jensen had convinced himself of that fact.

“I’m sure it is, but that’s not why you’re doing it. Have you even talked to Morgan about this?”

“He suggested it last month.” Jensen commented quietly.

“Maybe so, but have you talked to him lately? In the past week or so?” 

He didn’t like Steve’s tone, it shouted out that the man that had spent the past year in Thailand knew more about what was going on here in Madagascar than he did. He contemplated his answer, reworking it in his head before he finally simply said, “no.”

“I didn’t think so. He saw me coming in yesterday and asked me if I had seen you yet. When I said no, he filled me in on what has been going on around here.” Steve shoved Jensen then, almost knocking him from the trunk that they were perched on. “You are so worried about doing your job right, Jensen, that you’re not even doing it at all!”

“I – “ Jensen started to defend himself, but Steve cut him off.

“No. I’m going to tell you what I know and you’re going to listen. Okay?”

Jensen flashed back to a moment about two years ago when he had heard nearly the same statement from his brother. Six weeks later he was on a plane for Haiti. He nodded silently and looked out again at the rolling sea.

“This is not Houston, Jensen, and Morgan isn’t that asshole Schneider, for that matter your co-workers aren’t Will Craig or Kerr Fucking Smith, and Spencer is definitely not Eli, so you can just forget about any little parallels and similarities running through that brain of yours right now. I know that you go to work every day with what happened back there playing on some big screen in your head, Jen, that was then and this is not then. This is the here and now and you are doing good work. You are doing what you are supposed to do.” Steve rapped his knuckle on Jensen’s thigh trying to get his attention. It took a second rap for Jensen to look at his friend. Once their eyes connected, Steve continued.

“Seriously, I think that you should go up to that hospital and tell Morgan what’s going on. If you both decide to move Spencer, then so be it, but you can’t let the past rule the way you work and live now. You are a good therapist, Jen. You get things done and people respect you. Spencer respects you. Do you think that if they all found out that that would change? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think it’s the same over here. I don’t think it would matter at all.”

“You don’t know that, Steve. You can’t make that call and expect me to follow it.” Jensen argued.

“I think I can and if you don’t believe me then head up there and at least tell Spencer. He deserves the truth as to why you’re avoiding him. He’s your patient, Jen. He has a right to some answers.” 

Jensen swallowed thickly and rubbed a hand from his forehead to his jaw. The rainwater that he had dislodged from the tips of his hair, followed coolly behind.

“Jen.” Steve laid his hand gently on his thigh. “I’m not trying to sandbag you or anything like that. I want what’s best for you and I think that telling the truth, letting people see the real you? Well, I can’t be positive, but I can tell you that it won’t go as bad as you are imagining.”

The birds that had been wheeling across the surf had given up their hunt, only the rain and the waves remained. Jensen fought with himself over what to do. He glanced up at his friend again and saw nothing but support and love. He wanted to believe that it would all work out. PHI had been his last hope for a normal life, a last ditch effort to be the man that he wanted to be. He couldn’t lose that now. His head was starting to ache from the stress he had been putting it through over the last few days.

“I . . . how did you get him to talk?” His voice sounded scratchy, but that may be because he had been breathing the moist air for quite some time now. “I tried everything and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t reach him, Steve. I . . . heard you two singing last night and I couldn’t even get him to talk.”

Steve stretched out his arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Even if the warmth of the touch was elusive, the sense of comfort was still there. Jensen asked again.

“How did you get him to speak, Steve?”

“Well, I tried the niceties, like I assumed you would, but then I got down and dirty.” He chuckled as Jensen cocked an eyebrow at him. “I used you as a weapon.”

“What?!?” Jensen reared back. “What did you do?”

“I told you already. I used you as a weapon. And wipe that shocked look off of your face. He is totally into you, Jen. It’s written all over his face, clear as anything. Even you could have read the looks he gave me yesterday when we were talking.” Steve chuckled as Jensen slugged him none to gently in the arm. “No? Fine. I told you that I talked to Morgan when I got there and he gave me the lowdown on how things had been going around here and how you had taken off after yelling at Spencer. I then ran into the lovely and beautiful Dr. Talley, she’s –“

“Married.” Jensen interrupted.

“And I’m gay, but whatever. Dr. Talley filled me in on the rest, the book, the pills, the way that Spencer has stopped eating and even communicating in your weird junior high way of holding hands.”

“It worked for us.” _It did_. Jensen defended himself to the both of them. “Wait, he’s stopped eating?”

“I’m getting there and again, whatever. So I go over and meet your Spencer. Damn, Jen, he’s a fine piece of man.”

“Steve.” He drew back his hand to smack his friend again, but Steve laughed and caught his fist and brought their hands to his lap.

“He is, though. Anyway, I started talking all nicey-nice to him and then when I told him to cut the bullshit I thought that his glare alone was going to hack me up into shark bait. “

“He does have a killer stare.” Jensen acquiesced. 

“I’ll say. But when I told him that you had left, I believe I said went missing or AWOL or something along those lines, I thought he was going to try and climb out of that bed to try and beat me for any information.”

“Jesus, Steve!” Jensen pushed away from his friend so that he could turn to get a better look at the truth. 

“What? I wasn’t lyin’. You weren’t around and he was, _is_ as invested in you as you are in him. His reaction proved that to me.” 

“Still . . .”

“Still nothing, Jen. After that he let his guard down and before long I got him to shake my hand.” He knew the look on Steve’s face wasn’t smugness, but Jensen found himself irrationally jealous all the same. “Do you want to know what his first words were?”

Jensen stared down at his hands that lay limply in his lap. He rubbed absently at the scar that served to remind him not to get too close to patients. He did want to know, but he couldn’t find the words to ask. Steve, in his infinite wisdom, apparently saw the hesitation for what it was and carried on.

“ _Tell me about him_. He wanted to know about you, Jen. He was and probably still is worried about _you_. “ Jensen looked up to see the blatant truth as it lay firmly etched in the features of Steve’s face. “And before you ask . . . I didn’t tell him everything. I didn’t mention Schneider or Craig or Smith or any of those assholes back in Houston and I didn’t tell him about Eli. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The heavy breath that felt as if it had found a permanent home in his body, escaped through his lips then and Jensen sagged with relief.

“But I do think that you should tell him, and Morgan, about that. I think it’s time to stop hiding from your past and start living in the now. Hell, you’re in Madagascar. You know how many people want to be you right now?” Steve stood then and tapped him on the chin until he looked up. “Jensen. You know that I have your back and that I only want what’s best for you, right?”

It took a moment or two of contemplation of Steve’s questions before he nodded; Steve’s fingers slid haltingly along the damp skin of his jaw.

“Then go back up there and be the man that I know you are.”

Jensen didn’t speak as Steve turned and headed back up the trail towards the compound. It was just so much to think about and he didn’t know if he was strong enough to do what he knew was right. How could he face his demons when they had controlled him for so long? How could he risk everything just to save one man?

Jensen sighed and watched the waves slap against the shore.

He didn’t know if he was ready.

***~*~*’”’”*”’”’*~*~***

Eliot woke in his bed. He felt the same emptiness from before, crash back into place in his mind. He turned his head to the window and stared at the glimmers of light that the moon made on the waving fronds of the palm trees. Night time used to be the worst thing about being stuck in the hospital. He would have to spend the time alone with his thoughts with no real possibility of interruption. Of course that wasn’t the case anymore, but only because the days had become just as empty and useless.

“Eliot Spencer.” At least his work on getting his voice back was somewhat a success, he thought. “Jen-sen Ackles.”

He repeated them both a few times with ‘Nathan Ford’ and ‘Madagascar’ thrown in as well. 

He hadn’t realized just how much having Jensen just sitting with him and talking to him meant until he was gone. Steve told him that he was leaving later today that he needed to return to his own assignment, but Eliot hoped that he was successful in finding Jensen and convincing him to return to work before he went. 

He could just make out a tail of a crescent moon beyond the leaves. It was so clear and bright. He hadn’t seen a moon that sharp, crisp since his days back on the farm. He wondered if they ever thought of him, his family, if they wondered if he were alive or dead. It was weird that he missed the team more than his family, but that he missed Jensen most of all was what bothered him.

“Jen-sen. Jens-en.” He huffed out a breath and tried again, the catch in his throat was bothering him. “Je-nsen. Jense-n.”

Eliot grinned to himself. Nobody but he and the moon had heard him, but he was getting better. Just a couple of more tries, he figured and he would be good to go.

“I was right, you know? You do have a pretty nice voice.”

Eliot froze, caught like some feral animal in a spotlight. He turned his head slowly away from the window and took in the slumped solitary figure of Jensen, who was perched on the bed next to his with his elbows resting on his knees and hands hanging limply between them.

“Your name is Eliot?”

Speechless, Eliot nodded, but then he remembered that he wanted to impress the man before him. “My name is Eliot Spen-cer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, _Eliot_.” Jensen sounded practically formal to him, but Eliot smiled up at him anyway.

“You –too, Jensen.” He spoke slowly, but he got it out without a hitch.

They continued to watch one another, trying to figure out which way the conversation was going to go. Eliot had finally worked up the strength and courage to ask where Jensen had been, when the other man started speaking quietly.

“I always wanted to go into medicine. If you had asked me when I was a kid, I was going to be a doctor. But after torturing my ACL sliding into third base my junior year of high school, I shifted my thoughts to sports medicine. I was going to help athletes get back into top form after a possible career-ending injury. Never mind that I was one of those athletes. I worked hard to get the grades and to get the scholarships. According to my mom, I was her most single-minded, hardheaded, driven child.

“I graduated as valedictorian and within a year at college, I was at the top of the class there as well. Nothing was going to stop me or get in the way of what I wanted. You see, I’ve always been in my older brother, Josh’s shadow. I wanted to be a doctor; he’s a brilliant cardiologist with a beautiful wife and three equally beautiful children. I’m gay, so no wife and no grandkids for my mom to dote on. I know she would never say anything and she loves me just the same, but I know that it does upset her that I’ll never be able to give her those kids.”

Jensen paused and shook his head sadly. His lips formed a small wry smile.

“You see? I’m harder on myself than anyone could ever guess. After graduation, as valedictorian again, I got offered a job with one of the top sports’ clinics in Houston. I would have been a fool to turn it down. Six figures, full benefits. Jesus, it was all I ever wanted. So I jumped at it and landed running. We had the contract with the Texans, the pro football team that was just starting up there. I was going to be working with some seriously talented men. Life was good, great even. I even met a guy at work, who was the epitome of talented and smart and hot. That he was gay, well, yeah, of course I was going to catch him and I did.”

Jensen looked out the window as the wind picked up again. Eliot figured it was a sign that the rains were coming back. He turned back to Jensen and felt himself shrink beneath the intensity of those darkened eyes. He wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn’t need to hear all of this, that it wasn’t his fault the other day, but that look being directed at him had him hold his tongue. Jensen needed to finish this story and he wasn’t going to stop him.

“Will was, well, Will Craig was a dream come true. My life seriously couldn’t get any better. We moved in together and were the perfect couple. It didn’t hurt that he was from a well-known, well-bred family and my own family history wasn’t too shabby either. We hit all the right restaurants, the right events and there were countless pictures of us in the society pages. We were like the ideal token gay couple for the entire state of Texas.” Jensen smiled sadly at the memory.

“We had been together for about three years when it all fell apart and I lost it all. My home. My partner. My job. All I had left was my family and this.” Jensen slid the long sleeve of his tee shirt up. The tarnished skin of his scarred hand shone in the dim moonlight. Eliot had never seen anything but the hand before, but the gruesome wound spread up to nearly his elbow, the flesh puckered and spider-webbed with graft tissue.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself again, aren’t I? It was just before the football pre-season kick off and I had gone to my parents’ house for a quick break. Will couldn’t make it because he had promised to help out at one of the youth day camps put on by the team. I had a great time with my family. We grilled and laughed. I chased my nephews around until we all almost passed out from the exhaustion. 

“I headed out late Saturday night rather than Sunday afternoon. It was earlier than I usually did when I went home for the weekend, but I wanted to be well rested for the next day, the first day of the pre-season. The Texans were still such a new team and I wanted to be there with them as they pushed to prove themselves.” Jensen ran his partially mangled hand over his face and then whispered, his voice low enough that he might have been talking to himself. “I shouldn’t have bothered. Looking back at it now, I should have just stayed in Richardson.”

Eliot lay there and compared what he thought he knew about Jensen with what he was hearing now. All of it made sense so far, the self-blame, the personal struggle to get things right, perfect, but he was still missing that one piece of the puzzle, the part that brought this handsome, yet flawed man all the way to Madagascar. Jensen was silent for several more minutes, until Eliot wanted to ask him if he had fallen asleep, but eventually he lifted his gaze and started speaking in a voice so impossibly more wrecked that it made Eliot cringe.

“I got home, ready to surprise Will, but when I walked in I was the one that got the surprise. There on the sofa that my parents had bought for our housewarming was Will, legs spread wide and one of the junior public relation’s guys balls deep. I – I couldn’t believe it, you know? I had no idea that he had any idea to cheat on me, let alone that he actually would. Maybe I was just so blind by my desire to have the perfect life, that I didn’t see the signs, but I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I got in my car and tore out of there. I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there, but I just knew that I had to leave.”

Jensen rubbed a hand across his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but Eliot felt that he had every right to from the sounds of his voice. Hell, he might be in tears by the time this tale of heartbreak ended.

“I didn’t see it. I didn’t see the signs. I didn’t see the truck. I just didn’t see any of it. Sorry, I told myself that I was going to come in here and explain and now I’m getting all . . .” Jensen waved his hand looking for the right word. He finally settled on, “emotional. I just . . . I want you to understand that while I may not have had the same injuries that you’re suffering from, but I do know a thing or two about losing your way. 

“I ran a yellow light that night. I don’t remember seeing it, but I did do it, apparently. The guy behind me said that it was yellow, so I guess he would know. He also said that there was no way that I could have stopped safely before it turned red, but I don’t know if I believe that. I woke up in the hospital nearly a month later with Will at my side. My parents hadn’t known about him and Kerr and he hadn’t told them. Just seeing him brought it all back. I wanted to die rather than admit that I was now a failure.”

Eliot shook his head ‘no’, trying to imply that he didn’t believe Jensen to be a failure, not in the least, but he couldn’t catch his eye. 

“You see, my accident involved another vehicle, a guy in a Toyota truck that was kind of jumping the gun on his turn at the green. But where I got stuck in a bed with severe burns and a cheating bastard of a soon-to-be-ex; Eli Thedford got a plot of green grass and a nice wooden box. I had killed a man and I was going to have to live with that fact.”

Eliot felt the tears well up in his eyes then. While he had killed and maimed and beaten and anything else you could imagine one man doing to another, Jensen had killed one as well. The only difference being that Eliot signed on to do it and Jensen was a victim of circumstances. He held his hand out, hoping beyond hope that Jensen would allow him to offer what tiny bit of comfort that he could, but he finally dropped it back to his side when Jensen just shook his head.

“The burns weren’t the only keepsake I got that night. I’m sorry, Spencer, er . . .Eliot, I’ve got to be truthful with you. You . . . I can’t let you be my friend now, only for you to learn the truth and hate me later. I-” Jensen bit his bottom lip and rolled it in between his teeth. He looked worried which made Eliot feel nervous about what was to come. “I also banged my head but good, which you can imagine had some lasting effects. Well, yeah there was the coma for a month, but that wasn’t all. See, my mom brought me all sorts of books and magazines, she made sure that I could reach any number of the hundreds of ‘get well’ cards I had received, but it wouldn’t have mattered, not to me at least. That bang on the head did some lasting damage.”

Eliot eyed him. It was troubling to hear someone else rip open their own soul, to flay their memories wide for you to see and not be able to say or do anything to stop them from the anguish it was going to cause. Eliot had seen it building, but he was in no shape to save Jensen from himself.

“Have you ever heard of a condition called _Alexic Anomia_?” 

He saw Jensen’s eyes clear for the first time since he had started his destructive trip down memory lane. They cut him deep down in his gut.

“It’s what doctors call an aphasia, or a language disorder. In my case it was caused by when my head hit the side window during the accident, kind of whiplash of the brain. I really shouldn’t be here, you know? I shouldn’t be practicing, but my brother helped me get through the PHI application and got me on that plane.” Jensen sighed and gave a pain grin. “And Steve has held me together ever since.”

Eliot tried to clear his throat, which brought on a series of short, tight coughs, but eventually he was able to hold the pain at bay enough to ask, “wh-at is Alex-“

“Alexic Anomia?” Jensen finished for him. “Alexic Anomia has made it so that I am unable to read anymore. I look at the words and can see their shapes and sizes, I can see the letters, but they’re just a mess of arcs and lines to me, Hell, I can even write them, but I have no idea what they say. I’m unable to comprehend their meanings. Think of dyslexia on steroids, but unlike dyslexics, there are no tricks or methods to help me read even a _Dick and Jane_ book. Didn’t you ever wonder why I started the hand-holding communication with you, rather than just passing notes like we were in middle school?”

Eliot wanted to look away, to close his eyes to the shattered expression on the other man’s face, but even more, he wanted to pull him close and try to keep him together.

“Once I got out of the hospital and made as clean a break from Will as I could, I threw myself into my work. I didn’t tell anyone what was going on. I started riding my bike to work, claiming that I needed to get back into shape. I ate food that I could identify by the logo on the packaging. I tried to get out of charting by claiming headaches, but it was all so overwhelming, you know? I just couldn’t keep in front of it. Finally, it caught up to me and I nearly caused someone to lose their life.” Jensen’s head tipped as if the man was looking at the floor, but Eliot was fairly positive that Jensen was so lost in his past, that he wasn’t actually seeing a thing. 

“As a physical therapist, I can’t prescribe medication but I can recommend supplements and vitamins that I think may help in the long run. Back then, at the clinic, one of the first things we learned was to push the supplements from those pharmaceutical companies that gave us support.” Jensen lifted his hands to do the standard air quotes, which Eliot took to mean kick-backs. He really hated the greed of others sometimes.

“I didn’t know, but I should have. I should have known that the particular pill that I suggested as a more natural anti-inflammatory would clash with the anti-seizure medicine that my patient was on. I should have known. I would have known, if I could have read the damned label or even his chart, but no . . . I didn’t know and I almost killed a second man in less than a year. I felt like a menace, a danger to every and any one I came in contact with. I was fired when word got to Dr. Schneider, the head of the clinic about my condition. I always assumed that it was Kerr Smith, Will’s new boyfriend, but it didn’t matter after a while. Nothing mattered anymore.

“I let it go. I was ready to let it _all_ go. But then my brother dropped by and after one of the longest nights of my life, convinced me that my life wasn’t supposed to end then and there, that just because I couldn’t be what I felt I was supposed to be, that I could find a new way to live. To keep living. And now here I am in another country, in another clinic, making the same mistakes. I’m sorry, Eliot. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the one to help you. I wanted so bad not to fuck it up this time, but . . .” Jensen’s shoulders sagged as he pushed out a heavy breath. “I’ve talked to Dr. Morgan and I got him to agree to move you to Antsiranana. They’re not state of the art, but they’ll be able to offer you the best chance to regain your strength and work towards the solutions that you need. I’ve gotten it all arranged, so that Steve will accompany you there before he flies out.”

Eliot’s throat felt tight and his air short as he fought to find the strength to yell at who he felt was quite possibly the stupidest man alive; most gorgeous and broken, but still . . . stupid. He rapped his knuckles against the bed frame to get Jensen’s attention and after a few long minutes, Jensen’s stark and empty gaze cut through the expanding space between them until they finally met with his. Eliot mouthed the word, ‘No!’ as he punched his fist into the bed.

“It’s already set in motion.” Jensen replied bleakly.

“N-o!” The word strangled him, but Eliot wanted to be heard. In all the time that he had been trapped in that fucking bed with only his own silence for company, this was truly the first time that he wanted someone to hear him. “No.” he whispered harshly.

“It’s for the best, Eliot.” Jensen crouched next to the bed and Eliot grabbed for his arm to anchor him there. “I promised you way back at the beginning that I was going to help you and this is the only way.”

Eliot knew that he sounded like a broken record, but he said it again, this time the ‘o’ dropping off so that only the “Nnnn” disrupted the quiet of the night.

“It’s the only way.” Jensen said as he dug his finger’s below Eliot’s and pried them off his arm. “I need to know that you are going to get the best care and I’m not the person for it. I’m sorry, Eliot, I’m just not.” He stood and took a step back.

Eliot pleaded with his eyes, his face, his entire soul, but he couldn’t reach Jensen and convince him that he was wrong. Resigned, he knocked one last time on the metal frame until Jensen looked up, his beautiful features marred with a mix of regret and sorrow.

“Be bac-k . . .Jens-en.” It had taken all his strength, but it hadn’t been enough in the end. Jensen shook his head and stepped further away into the darkness; his whisper hung between them as he turned and quickly walked from the room, the moonlight falling short behind him.

“No. You won’t.”

 

**03 May, 2014 -**

“The equipment should be arriving in a week or two and the groundbreaking on the new surgery center and the staff housing quads should be right after that. I’m to understand that those two areas require the most attention first, correct?” 

Jensen had listened to the PHI accounting executive all day as he followed along behind him and Drs. Morgan and Talley. The money man had shown up unexpectedly right after breakfast to announce that extra money had been found within the charity budget and it had been decided that the Marahinja clinic was in dire need of some basic improvements. 

Jensen listened as various machines and necessities were added to the growing list. He was betting that they wouldn’t get everything, baring the essentials, so he stayed quiet with his own small list of wants. He hadn’t felt right adding them, when he had already received the number one want on his list, to keep his job. Dr. Morgan had concerns, of course, but he was willing to work with him and that was all that mattered. The older executive turned his smiling eyes to him anyway and asked what the hospital needed in terms of the physical therapy department. Jensen was stunned. PT wasn’t a priority, but his ideas were added to the list, nonetheless.

“After we get those completed, we think the idea for the community center is a good one, so I think that that should be next, don’t you think? I mean to say, getting these people healthy is our number one priority, but teaching them to stay that way, well, I believe the home office can get behind that idea.”

 _It’s all too much_. Jensen thought as the others moved on ahead. 

There had been talk of closing the clinic at the first of the year and it had been living on the bubble ever since. Dr. Wester had returned to the States with his tale of poor conditions and a population that hadn’t wanted them there and the monthly visits began; each time a new shortcoming was pointed out. It was too far from the capital. Supplies were tough to come by. Bandits stole the medications. Even Jensen had scoffed at that one, seeing how suddenly there wasn’t a shortage of Vicodin every month once Wester had left, but the executives hadn’t cared about that.

“It’s like a dream, isn’t it, Jensen?” Jensen glanced up to see Dr. Talley heading towards him. He could see the other two men heading into Dr. Morgan’s office. The man’s assistant or personal secretary or whomever she was, had followed with them for a while before she disappeared. Jensen saw her seated on the side of a bed now, her chestnut hair tossed back as she giggled with the young patient that lay there.

“I know.” Jensen replied. He took in his co-workers dazed look as she rubbed her swelling belly. He nodded towards her hand and smiled. “Jake’s gonna get leave in time, isn’t he?”

“Forget leave, his times up about two weeks before this little one’s supposed to be here. My Jake is getting his honorable discharge and coming home. My baby’s going to get to meet its daddy.”

Jensen smiled at the blissful expression on Dr. Talley’s face before he wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders. “I’m so happy for you, Padma.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on the temple.

She grinned up at him and whispered. “Thank you.”

He released her so that she could go put her feet up. He figured it was time to go home and do the same thing; he headed for the door.

Walking out of the hospital, he waved to Tamanil, as the man banged repeatedly and with what were probably no positive results, at something under the hood of the supply truck. There was another guy there, pointing at something, which had Tam laughing and shaking his head ‘no’ before he flashed Jensen a toothless grin and began wailing on the truck with his mallet again. Jensen could feel his returning smile as it threatened to split his face in two; his cheeks ached from it. It had been a good day, Hell, it had been a brilliant day.

A group of children ran giggling around him, kicking a beat up soccer ball between them. A blonde was running after them, her long hair sailing on the breeze. Jensen didn’t recognize her, but then missionaries were through the village all the time, so he didn’t stress about it. 

It was getting easier to fathom that these kids didn’t realize just how poor they really were in the grand scheme of the world, for they nearly always found delight in simply living each day as it came and finding joy in their world for all their unaddressed troubles. The ball sailed in front of him and Jensen booted it back with a chuckle when it sailed long and the kids scrambled after it. The blonde gave him a dazzling smile and a little wave, it almost made Jensen rue his homosexuality . . . but only almost.

A chuckle from his left caused Jensen to turn and see Sam swaying lazily in a hammock supported between two of the massive Baobab tree trunks, a leg swinging absently off the side, mobile phone pressed tightly to his ear. Judging by the predatory grin on his friend’s face, Jensen was positive who was on the other end of the call. He gave a wave and turned towards the cluster of huts that stood proudly but was stopped by a call from the man in the hammock.

“Hey, Jensen. Steve says ‘hey’ and not to do anything he wouldn’t do.”

Jensen turned and grinned at Sam, but refrained from making the standard comment about how that wouldn’t leave much. He knew Steve a bit too well, but he also wanted to leave Sam some surprises for down the road. Walking backwards a few steps, he watched as Sam’s smile broadened, deepening the dimples that cut through his cheeks. A sudden and dirty laugh had Jensen spinning back around and heading towards the huts once more.

Tipping his head back in the weak afternoon sun, Jensen rejoiced inwardly that the rainy season was drawing to a close. The rains were coming less frequently and they had been lucky to escape with only a few cyclone warnings at the compound. They had treated the few injured folk from the one that had torn through the small fishing village of Hanafaril, but everyone had survived and was able to return to their families after only a few days at the hospital. Jensen still met with one of the older fishermen weekly to help him regain use of his broken hip, but he was happy that he could help in any way possible. That’s what he was here for, after all. 

A soft melodic tune carried on the breeze as Jensen neared the huts causing him to pause and the smile to slip from his face. The delicious aroma of _mi sao_ wafted along with the music and Jensen felt his feet moving towards the door on their own volition. The fried noodle, vegetable, and meat dish was his favorite.

 _It can’t be_ , was the only thought that he could latch onto in his rapidly emptying mind. Jensen turned and glanced again at Sam. If Sam was talking to Steve . . . then that meant . . .

His feet carried him the last few steps right next to the doorway of his hut. He stayed out of sight, but peered into the reflection of the small oval mirror over his dresser, at the man that was seated on a stool inside his home. The light of the hurricane lamp on the counter danced and played across the length of Eliot’s long hair. His skin practically glowed as he plucked out a tune on Jensen’s guitar, a second case sat at his feet alongside a pair of duffels. 

“I know you’re there, Jen.” 

Eliot hadn’t even looked up, Jensen could have sworn that he never once looked up, but he had been caught watching anyway. Figuring that he was already busted and seeing as it _was_ his house, he pivoted around the doorjamb, took a hesitant step inside and slid his back up against the wall.

“You came back.”

“I said I would.” Eliot leaned the guitar into the corner made by the cabinet and the wall, next to a pair of banged up cuff crutches and looked up finally. The brightness of his blue eyes stole Jensen’s already shortened breath away. “I keep my word, Jensen.”

“I – you’re here.” Jensen lifted his arm and pinched at the soft underside of his wrist. He winched at the sensation.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Eliot asked with perplexity running deep in his tone.

“This day . . . I- you would not believe this day I’m having.” Jensen gasped as he rubbed lightly at his reddened flesh.

“Why don’t you tell me about it? Come over here and tell me what has got you so spooked.” 

The drawl was Jensen’s undoing, his hips separated from the wall first, leaving his shoulders awkwardly still planted against the rough-hewn wood as his lower body swayed forward. Eliot’s grin was bordering on filthy when he spoke again. “All of you, Jen. I’m going to need all of you over here.”

Jensen laughed, his nerves were shot, but he took a small step before the two big strides that found him standing directly in front of what was quite possibly his future, or at least what he hoped was his future. He felt the heat radiating out of those callused hands as they gripped his hips above the draw-stringed waistband of his scrubs. 

“I . . . so you found my place alright?” It was a ridiculous comment, but it got Spencer to toss back his head and laugh heartily, which was what he was aiming for. The sound was still rough, but it was hearty and deep. He had wanted to know that the man was alright and that laugh put him well on the path to believing that it was so.

“Yeah, I found it okay. I got directions from no less than five people and a whole mess of kids. One guy, a ginormous dude with a mess of hair, even offered to pick the lock if I needed him to.” Spencer grinned up at him and Jensen was stunned by how serene those blue eyes looked, even narrowed and crinkled up in mirth. “So tell me what else happened today that was so unbelievable that you had to pinch yourself.”

“Well, you’re here for one. I can’t believe that you came back. How did you get here? How did you get home? There’s just so much . . .” Jensen was still so stunned by that turn of events that he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a hallucination or a dream. Jensen lifted his hands to rest tenderly on Spencer’s broad shoulders; the power of the muscles beneath them felt amazing even when they were at rest. “I’m just kind of overwhelmed that you kept your word. I’m sorry.”

“I can understand that, but one thing you’ll learn about me is that I always keep my promises. I contacted a friend once I could talk and I stayed in Antsiranana until he could get there, then he flew home with me. It took some time, but I just kept thinking about how all the pain of rehab was going to be worth it if I could just see you again.” Those hands pulled him closer and closer until he was standing in the vee of Spencer’s legs. “Now, your turn, what else happened?”

“Oh, um, a man from the home office came today and we’re to get a bunch of new equipment and they’re going to build a new surgery section on the building.” Even as he said the words, Jensen found the truth hard to believe. “He said that the organization had found some money by exploring a different or I guess he used the word _alternative_ , yeah, an alternative revenue stream.”

“Yeah? What’s that mean, an alternative revenue stream? Nah, you know what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it happened at all. I know that it’s been rough.” Eliot smile grew serious as he craned his head back to peer more clearly into his eyes. “Seriously, Jen. I know I wasn’t the easiest of patients, but you all really did your level bests to do right by me and I really do appreciate it. Well, maybe not Wester so much, but every single other person treated me with the respect that I know I really did nothing to deserve.

“He’s gone, Wester. Took for home right after the new year.” 

“Good. He was really dragging this place down.”

Jensen barked out a laugh at the idea of the Ivy League doctor bringing down the quality of their little hospital. It sounded ridiculous, no matter how true the statement was. 

“Anything else?”

“What?” Jensen was still chuckling when Eliot asked the question.

“Are they going to do anything else around here? I mean, yeah, the hospital needs a lot of work, but what about updating the computers or giving you all way to help the folks before they get sick, I don’t know, cooking classes or methods to protect themselves against the elements?”

Jensen grew serious as he pondered Eliot’s questions. It was as if he already knew about the grant money. He slipped one of his hands up from the shoulder that it was clutching to play in the loose hair around it the nape of Eliot’s neck.

“Did you already know about the money?” Jensen asked his mouth opened to go on until he was interrupted.

“No. I just . . . I saw how things were around here and I know that there’s a lot more needed around here than just a new operating room and some fancy machines.” 

Jensen studied Eliot’s face in the hearty glow of the candlelight. He saw many things, but deception wasn’t one of them.

“How did you get here?” he asked slowly as Eliot’s finger tips started inching around his waist, slowly drawing him closer still.

“I flew into Antsiranana and then hitched a ride.” Jensen felt the words, more than he heard them as Eliot tipped his head down to rest it against his navel.

“You could have called.” He brought his other hand up to cradle the crown of chestnut hair, brushing it down against the back of Eliot’s head. “I could have sent Tam for you.”

Eliot turned his head to the side then, his cheek laying flat against his stomach. “I know.” 

The simple statement filled the room.

They stayed like that for several minutes, each lost in their thoughts of the past, of their time together when the silence was all they had and they welcomed it and then the time apart since then. But the quiet now wasn’t the same as then, now it was laden with not only the past, but also what the future could hold. 

Jensen’s skin warmed beneath the thin cotton of his work top as the man in his hold gusted out a sigh. He wanted to ask what it meant, but he was fearful of the answer, so he held his tongue. He could feel Eliot’s hands dropping away and he loosened his own to allow him to make whatever move he had in mind, but as he tried to take a step back those strong and nimble fingers closed tightly around his hips again. He felt his pants start to give as Eliot pulled himself to his full height. Jensen felt his breath catch at the intensity of those startling blue eyes that bore into his own from only a few inches away.

“I was coming back. I had to, Jensen. I can’t be without you. I was lost until you and you saved me. ” Jensen opened his mouth to reply, but one of those hands came up to cover it. A soft smile graced his lips as he went on. “No. I want to talk now. I think it’s my turn. I thought I had life figured out. I had made several changes in the past couple of years, for the better, and I honestly thought that things were going good. I thought that I had the world by the tail, but then . . . then I wake up in your hospital and realized that it was all an illusion. Everything. Everything that I thought I knew was gone, or different, I wasn’t ever going to be the man that I thought that I was supposed to be and that scared the shit out of me.

“And then you come along. You, Jensen Ackles, you were my undoing.” Eliot sighed then, the warm air caressed his cheek, but Jensen stayed silent. “I’ve always lived my life as if it had one purpose and one purpose only, to be the last man standing, but when I woke up then, in that bed, I realized that that purpose was gone. Null and void and I. . .I just lost it. The power, the strength . . . the hope? It was all gone.”

Jensen couldn’t hold his tongue for a second longer. “But it wasn’t.”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t. I just couldn’t see that because I’m a hard-headed fool. But you . . . you saw through me and you made me want to live again. Thank you, Jen. I . . . I not good at these kinds of things . . .” Jensen watched as Eliot tipped his head up, staring at the ceiling in thought. He could make out a definite glistening on the man’s eyelashes.

“I think you’re doing pretty good.” Jensen let his hands travel up to rub at the broad biceps of the tense man in front of him, “you don’t have to say any more, if you don’t want to.” He had to offer him an out.

“I _do_ have to. Don’t you see, Jen. I have to because if it weren’t for you and your quiet strength and your understanding, your hope, I wouldn’t be here. You know that as well as I do and I want you to know how much I appreciate that, how thankful I am that it was _you_ that stuck by me.”

Jensen felt the pinprick of tears in his eyes now as he stared into Eliot’s watery ones.

“It’s not the thanking part that I was having a problem with . . . I – my momma raised me up proper. No, it’s the fear of being told ‘no’ that is making this so hard.” Eliot gave a bit of an undignified sniff.

“I’m not going to say no.” Jensen whispered as he brought his hands up to cup the rugged jaw line in front of him; he could feel the minute twitch of a muscle beneath the fingers of his left hand.

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.” Eliot countered back.

“Try me.” It was amazing to Jensen how much weight two little words could carry, but the air that had been still and quiet was suddenly charged with a heated current. 

The gaze that Eliot leveled at him had the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up and a flash of goosebumps coursed down his bare arms. The desire and want that he had kept secreted away for all these years was suddenly unleashed as the intensity of those blue eyes broke the lock on the stronghold that he had placed on his heart.

“Try me.” He whispered again hoarsely.

“Jensen?” Eliot’s voice sounded just as wrecked as his own.

“Yes.”

“I know that you barely know me and that I’ll probably be nothing like what you’d expect –“

“Yes.” Jensen interrupted to repeat his answer. Eliot went on as if the word hadn’t even registered.

“- but I like to think that I know you pretty well by now and, well, there’s this knife edge and I’m –“

“Yes.” 

Jensen could feel a smile building across his face as he listened to Eliot’s throaty voice as he tried to put his emotions into words. He knew that his former patient had lived hard and probably fought even harder in his life and he knew that he still had a long way to go, but Jensen wished he would just stop and listen to what he was offering him.

“- the thing is, Jen, is that I’m . . . I’ve never been able to keep a relationship going, you know? I’ve always managed to –“

“You’re not going to this time.” Jensen replied decisively and then he bent those few inches down until his lips found Eliot’s still moving ones. They stilled for a few seconds and then Eliot was on board with what Jensen had been trying to tell him as his arms slid up around Jensen’s back and he found himself an active participant in one of the most passionate embraces he had ever had the pleasure of being a part of.

A few minutes later, Jensen withdrew enough to pull some much needed oxygen into his lungs and he peered down at the easy, untroubled face of his hopeful friend. He smiled and Eliot mirrored it back to him. He leaned forward enough to peck him again and then he said, “yes.”

“I was hoping . . .”Eliot started before he paused to run a hand through his hair. Jensen smiled at the look of relief on his face. “I always thought I was smooth when I was working it, you know? Like I had a tongue as smooth as melted chocolate, but, well, apparently I don’t.”

“Oh, I think you did just fine.” Jensen assured him, earning himself a cocky grin. “Besides, I have a confession to make.”

“Yeah?” One of Eliot’s hands slid down to rest dangerously low on his back. “What about?”

“It’s just that; remember how we used to talk, to communicate?” Jensen let one of his hands slide down Eliot’s arm until it curled behind him to catch the sneaky hand near his ass. He pulled it up to rest between their chests and bent down to kiss Eliot’s knuckles. “I fell for you even before I ever heard your voice.”

Eliot surged up and wrapped his free arm around his neck, pulling him down. That kiss said it all; _thank you_ , _please_ , _yes_ , _sorry_ , and _I love you_ flowed between them and they both knew it without ever saying a word.

*the end*

**Author's Note:**

>  **a/n & thanks:** I decided to try life outside the box for a change and let me tell you, writing this fic stretched my brain to its capacity. I had my doubts, but in the end, I think I made an admirable run at this challenge. I would like to thank **deadflowers5** for hosting the **J2 & Kane Big Bang**, I’ve had fun.
> 
> Thanks also to **terrorinyertub** , for taking a chance on this seemingly random story and creating such lovely art from the roughest of rough drafts. Thank you for keeping me on track to finish in time and for working with so little information. It’s been a pleasure.
> 
> Lastly, I cannot express my gratitude enough to my extraordinarily patient and amazingly quick beta, **smalltrolven**. She has put up with so much whining, sniveling, bitching and moaning from me that frankly, I’m surprised that she has anything to do with me anymore. Thank You. Thank You! THANK YOU! For kicking me in the butt and then holding my hand all the way. You’re amazing!!!!  <3!
> 
>  
> 
> The song except is from “Come Around More Alabama” by Steve Carlson  
> The title is from the song “Winter” by Joshua Radin
> 
>  
> 
> This will fill my second square on my 81-square Homebrew Bingo Card. The one labeled "Talking & Communication Issues"
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The actors within this work belong to themselves (and their respective spouses/families). I have no allusions as to what they do in their free time and truthfully; it is none of my business. No profit is expected or even desired for the creation of this work of fiction. I just like to take the pretties out and pose them a bit, really. You know, dress them up or in most cases, undress them and then make them act out fantasies. It was written for a bit of fun and that is all. No harm is intended to these fine actors and actresses.
> 
> Vocab:  
> Il est temps, monsieur. - "It is time, sir."  
> Tous ont fini, je suis désolés, monsieur - "All finished, I'm sorry, sir."  
> Eins - "one" (German)  
> deux - "two" (French)  
> cztery - "three" (Polish)  
> cinco - "five" (Spanish)  
> shest - "six" (Russian)  
> yedi - "seven" (Turkish)  
> acht - "eight" (Dutch)  
> devet - "nine" (Serbian)  
> kuni - "ten" (Swahili) 
> 
> Seeing as how I have no talent for learning a second language (believe me I've tried), all translations are from this site: http://translate.reference.com


End file.
